


Prompt fills - Volume 1

by mangocianamarch



Series: PROMPT FILLS [1]
Category: Being Human (UK), The Almighty Johnsons, The Hobbit (2012) RPF
Genre: Crossover, Crossover Pairings, M/M, RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-19
Updated: 2013-04-18
Packaged: 2017-12-08 13:55:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 32,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/762090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mangocianamarch/pseuds/mangocianamarch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of all the prompt fills I write for over at my Tumblrs, MangocianaMarch and FanficcianaWrites.</p>
<p>This is volume 1 of the prompt fills, and includes every fill I wrote between me closing prompts and opening them. Volume 2 coming soon. Watch this space.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. AIDEAN

**Prompt** : _The first time Aidan meets Dean's family (and by family, I mean the The Almighty Johnson's cast) and hes super nervous and wants to make good impression?? :)_  
 ** _~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~_**  


Dean’s eyes follow Aidan’s progress from one end of the room to another. He’s been pacing for at least 15 minutes now, doing something different at every part of the room he ends up in. In one corner, he spritzes bodyspray, but then he remembers something else and, muttering a little curse, crosses to the other side to change his shirt. But then he realizes scents stay longer on the skin than on cloth, so he walks over and retrieves his cologne, spraying as he paces back to the closet. As he puts on the shirt, he begins to worry that the watch he wants to wear won’t actually go with the shirt he’s changed into, so with another curse, he moves to the vanity desk where his three watches are, tries them on one by one and checking his appearance in the mirror. He promptly drops the third one, which causes Dean to bite his bottom lip to keep from laughing. Aidan bends to pick up the watch, and on his way up bumps his head on the edge of the desk. It’s all Dean can take, and he starts chuckling as Aidan, swearing soundly, rubs at the offended spot on his head.

“I’m glad you find it funny,” Aidan groans at Dean, who is losing his shit on the bed.

“I’m sorry, Dean replies, sounding like he clearly isn’t, “I’m sorry, Aid, it’s just…You’re so WORRIED.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?!” Aidan shoots back, gingerly getting back up on his feet, “It’s a big day!”

“I think it’s a lot smaller than you’re making it out to be though,” Dean says, trying (and failing a bit) to sober up, “Seriously though, calm down.”

“I will NOT calm down, Deano,” Aidan tells him, rounding on him, still rubbing at the sore spot, “And yes, this is as big as I’m making it out to be. This is the first time I’m meeting them, and I just really, REALLY want to make a good impression, and I can’t be faulted for that, so either help me out or heave the fuck off. Now, help me out here: Brown leather strap with the silver face, or black leather strap with white face, or silver watch, or no watch?”

With a sigh meant to cover up one last chuckle, Dean gets up off of the bed and walks over to Aidan, spreading his arms. “Get in here, you,” he urges, “Come on, come over here.”

Aidan shakes his head, pouting slightly. “No, I don’t want to,” he says, but the way he’s not really moving in the opposite direction betrays him.

“Come heeeeeeeeeeere, little kitten face,” Dean coos, closing the gap between them. He holds Aidan to him, Aidan’s back to his own chest, his arms wrapped tight around the taller man’s torso. “There, isn’t that better?” he asks softly, planting a tiny kiss in the middle of Aidan’s back.

“No, it’s not,” Aidan lies. It serves its purpose; Dean tightens his embrace around Aidan just a little bit.

Now, you listen to me, Irishman, and you listen good,” Dean commands him, “You are Aidan fucking Turner. You are an intelligent, talented, charming man with a face everyone’s mother loves, and an accent so adorable barely anyone can understand it. And I love you for everything that you are, because you are perfect to me.”

“I bet you say that to everybody,” Aidan says, although he can barely fight down the smile spreading across his face.

“What, that I love you? Not everybody, just to the people that really matter,” Dean answers truthfully, “And you matter most to me, and that’s why I tell you that everyday.”

“You’re sweet,” Aidan replies, “But how does that help me right now?”

“Well, I love you, so I know they will too,” Dean reassures him, peppering him across the back with feather-light kisses, “There’s a lot about you to love, not least of which is the fact that you have the tightest, sweetest arse ever.” As if in emphasis, Dean unwraps himself from around Aidan only to grab at his butt and give him a generous squeeze.

“Shove off, O’Gorman,” Aidan chuckles, elbowing Dean in the ribs.

Dean is laughing too, but he takes Aidan’s wrist and pulls him close again, this time facing him. “I’m serious though,” he tells Aidan, “They’re my mates, we’re really close, we really are like brothers, and I’m sure they’re going to love you almost as much as I do.”

“Almost?” Aidan asks, just a little worried if maybe there’s something he’s still missing.

“Almost,” Dean echoes, “Because nobody’s going to love you as much as I do, and you know it.”

“You tiny little sap,” Aidan chuckles, “I could just eat you up.”

“Is that an invitation or a suggestion?” Dean asks him, waggling his eyebrows ridiculously up at Aidan.

“Shut up,” Aidan tells him, and he lets their lips meet in a sweet, gentle kiss, unable to keep the smile away.

“Better now?” Dean asks him, barely pulling away.

“Yeah, I’m calm now,” Aidan answers, still smiling.

“No, you’re not,” Dean says, fingers toying with the cloth of Aidan’s shirt.

“Oh, okay then,” Aidan laughs as Dean pulls him down for more. This kiss is deeper, less chaste, a little more hungry. Aidan sighs into it, letting himself melt into Dean’s embrace, but then Dean’s tongue finds entrance into his mouth, and he whimpers, pushing him away. “Doooooon’t,” he warns softly.

“Why nooooooooot?” Dean teases in the same manner, moving his lips to Aidan’s neck instead, tongue flicking out a little at his recently bathed skin.

Aidan lets out a rather undignified mewl when Dean’s lips connect with the pulse point between his neck and shoulder. “Because we’ll never get out of here,” Aidan tells him, his hands just as unsure of what he really wants as his tone, “No, Dean, seriously, come on. I don’t wanna be late. What are they gonna think of me?”

“That the only reason we’re late is because you were too busy making me happy,” Dean says immediately, kissing Aidan’s collarbone, “Very, VERY happy.” He manoeuvres one hand down between the two of them until it closes around Aidan’s crotch.

“Whoa, no, seriously, Deano,” Aidan chuckles, jumping a little as he pushes Dean from him, “I’m serious, let’s go. I have some impressing to do.” Dean pouts at him, and Aidan puts up a finger in warning, “No no no, not the face, don’t give me the face, it’s not going to work this time.”

“Suddenly you’re eager to go meet them?” Dean observes, putting on his own watch and pocketing the car keys.

“I’m not eager,” Aidan says with a small, restless breath, “I’m anxious. I want to get there and get it all over and done with. I almost think if I’m not moving fast enough, I’m more than likely to screw something up.”

Dean grabs him again, but this time holds him at arm’s length (mainly because he’s sure he won’t be able to control himself if he lets Aidan come any closer, he’s so cute in his anxiety). “Look at me, Irishman,” he orders him, and Aidan obeys, “You are perfect. You don’t need to do anything special or extra to impress my mates. Trust me, you’re gonna be just fine. They’re going to love you. You’re going to charm the fuck out of each and every single one of them. And if we leave there with them not liking you, then I’m divorcing them.”

Aidan chuckles, giving Dean that close-lipped smile that makes him look like he’s about 12 years old. “There’s my little kitten face,” Dean says, “Now let’s go meet the Johnsons. Jared’s been asking about you, I don’t really know why, but he seems very interested in you and me.”

**~ THE END. ~**


	2. GORMITAGE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: could you possibly write a gormitage fic where they're all at a bar or club and dean is getting hit on by some really sleazy guy and richard comes and saves the day? maybe with some gents bathroom/back alley smooching? :33

The night had started out innocently enough. The Dwarves had had a hell of a week, and the way Friday had only been 40% actual work, 60% goofing the fuck off and not getting anything done on set, it was obvious that the rigors of shooting was starting to take their toll. Graham had made the incredibly genius suggestion that they all step out for drinks as soon as shooting was finished for the week, no matter what time of night (or early morning) it was. So as soon as everyone had been out of prosthetics and back in their own skins, they had made a mad dash for their favorite pub in each other’s cars.

And here they are now, an hour and a half in, still drinking, still chatting, still singing karaoke without actually getting up on the stage and doing it on the mic. Richard had appointed himself one of the designated drivers; he doesn’t enjoy beer as much as the others do anyway, so a few conversational drinks would be enough for good conversation and warm company.

Only problem is that he’s all but checked out of whatever conversation the lads around the table are having. He pretends to be listening to whatever it is Jimmy’s saying, but in truth, he’s looking past Jimmy’s shoulder and over at the bar, where Dean, Aidan and Adam seem, at the moment anyway, to be immersed in their own little world.

Richard knows why they’re over there, and not over here. Richard knows why they’ve positioned Dean between them and look to be talking to each other in lowered, almost hushed tones. Some part of him thinks he should probably go over there and try to fix things, but then he knows that alcohol is not exactly Dean’s best friend, and he probably wouldn’t listen. Not tonight, anyway. So Richard is trying instead to content himself with watching over Dean from afar, pretending only to sip from his own glass of beer so he can keep his mind clear.

It’s about 15 minutes past midnight when Aidan and Adam each pat Dean on the back (consolingly?), get up from their chairs, and leave Dean on his own. Richard quickly tries to rearrange his expression to look as if he’s been paying attention to the talk at the table as Aidan and Adam join them, fresh pints of beer in their hands. Aidan seats himself down beside Richard, and at Richard’s most subtle look of inquiry, just shakes his head surreptitiously. Richard sighs heavily, downing the now lukewarm beer in his glass. Just as he’s about to get up and walk to where Dean is still drinking at the bar, a couple of other guys beat him there. Swearing loudly in his head and mentally kicking himself, he watches and waits again instead, no longer putting up any pretense that he’s paying attention.

 _They’re harmless_ , he convinces himself, _They just wanna have a chat because they’ve recognized him, is all. They’re just being friendly, and buying him drinks, and…getting a little too close, but they must be a little tipsy too…Stop touching him, though, he’s obviously uncomfortable…I’m serious, stop touching him, he’s drunk, leave him alone…_

“Rich?”

Richard’s focus is momentarily pulled from Dean by Jimmy’s voice.

“You okay, mate?” James asks, “You look a little tense.”

“I do?” Richard replies lamely, “Sorry, I just…”

But things at the bar seem to be getting more and more aggressive. Dean seems to be aggravated now, and the other two up their levels as well. Without knowing he’s doing it, Richard balls one hand into a fist, nails digging into his palm.

And then one guy puts an arm around Dean and pulls him in roughly, and Dean tries to push or bat him away, and Richard’s resolve to not get involved finally snaps.

“Would you excuse me, guys?” he says, slightly surprised he can even find the time to be polite, “There’s something I gotta take care of.” Without waiting for a reply from any of them, he stands up, and crosses the room to the bar in what he feels must be only about a step or two. He calls Dean’s name as he nears, and all three heads turn to look at him. Dean’s eyes are hazy, his cheeks slightly red from the drink, but he’s clearly angry.

“What’s this then?” asks one of the strangers, looking Richard from the bottom up, not an easy feat at all considering how close Richard is right now, “Who’re you? His boyfriend or something? Bloody fucking knew it, you little queer.”

“That’s enough for one night,” Richard says in a low tone, putting a hand on Dean’s shoulder, “Come on, ean, we’ve gotta go.”

“Aww, don’t leave now, homos,” laughs the other one, apparently hammered out of his mind, “We were just starting to have fun, weren’t we, actor boy?” He ruffles Dean’s hair roughly, and Dean groans in pain as his head is forced down, and it’s absolutely, ABSOLUTELY the last straw for Richard. He grabs the guy’s wrist, grips it hard, and looks him dead in the eye.

“I don’t threaten,” he says, voice dark, “and I usually am not one to make a scene. But if you and your buddy don’t clear out in the next 20 seconds, I might make an exception. Now, for the last time: Leave. My friend. Alone.”

He’s not sure what convinces the little shit to back off, but when Richard lets go, he does just that, motioning to his friend to do the same. Richard watches them retreat to some dark corner of the bar until he’s satisfied they’re not going to suddenly turn around, run at him and punch him right in the face or something.

“You okay?” Richard asks Dean, who has one cheek resting on a fist, while the other hand clutches a beer.

“Fuck off,” Dean replies bitterly, swigging from his beer bottle then. As the bottle goes up into the light, Richard sees the silly thing is empty.

“Guess I deserve that,” Richard answers quietly, shoving his hands into his pockets, “But I did just pry those two guys off of you before they could do something.”

“Well congratu-bloody-lations, mate,” Dean says, rounding on him and glaring at him through squinted eyes, “My fucking hero, thanks a lot. I suppose you want an award or something?”

Richard tells himself that it’s the alcohol talking for Dean as Dean puts the bottle to his lips again. Richard seizes it, plants it with finality on the bar, takes out his wallet and puts down some money.

“The fuck you doing, Richard?” Dean asks, annoyed.

“Taking you home,” Richard tells him as he pockets his wallet again, “You’re not in any fit state to stay here any longer, come on.”

“Fuck you,” Dean hisses. He turns in his chair and gets up, promptly tripping over the nearest empty table on his way to the rest of the Dwarves. Shaking his head, Richard helps him up, and despite Dean’s slurred protests, doesn’t let go as he walks him over to the lads.

“We’ve got to shove off,” Richard says apologetically to the others, holding an uncooperative Dean at bay, “I can’t let him go home alone.”

“It’s fine, man,” Aidan reassures him, eyes shifting between Richard’s calm expression and Dean’s drunken undulating, “Adam and I will catch a cab.”

“Right,” Richard says, “Sorry, boys, see you tomorrow.” He takes Dean by both shoulders and maneuvers him outside. Dean manages to wrench himself away as they walk into the narrow, dark, abandoned back alley leading to where the cars were parked.

“I’m not a child, I can fucking walk,” he spits out, immediately swaying a little to the side as he tries to prove Richard wrong.

Richard puts out a hand and stops him from hitting the wall. Instead of thanking him, Dean groans in irritation, and leans back against the wall, eyes closed as he tries to refocus them and get rid of some of the tipsiness. Richard stops too, putting his hand back in the pocket of his jeans. Dean opens one eye to look at him, and lets out a few humorless chuckles.

“You asshole,” he murmurs, “You self-absorbed, conceited, insensitive asshole.”

It seems they’ve arrived at That Point, and there’s no way out of it. Richard watches Dean’s flushed face. “I said I was sorry,” he says softly.

“Oh, and that’s supposed to make everything okay?!” Dean asks him, “Did you really think everything would be fixed with a single ‘sorry?’ After what you did to me?!”

“I’m not proud of it,” Richard replies, “I wasn’t thinking straight at the time, okay? I just…I wasn’t thinking straight. But that’s no excuse. I never should have said what I said.”

“You’re damn right you shouldn’t have,” Dean declares, “Do you have any idea the hell I put myself through after that? How much I hated myself, coz I thought it was MY fault? You just…Look at you, standing there, looking all clean and dashing and perfect, like there’s absolutely nothing fucking wrong with you, like you aren’t some heartless dickhead who doesn’t care about anyone else but himself and —”

But Richard cuts him off by closing the gap between them, his lips to Dean’s, Dean’s face in his hands, and the rest of Dean’s tirade dying in his throat. Dean clutches clumsily at Richard’s leather jacket, trying to hold him close and push him away at the same time. The kiss is needy for sure, but apologetic, as if Richard has run out of things to say and is hoping the kiss will say the rest for him.

“I’m sorry, okay?” he says when the kiss breaks, “I didn’t mean to hurt you, I would never want to hurt you. I just…I needed time to figure things out. But I get it now, I do. And I just want to make things right.”

Silences settles between them as Dean looks up at him, seemingly searching his face. Richard is well aware that they’re two men, pressed together against a wall in some dark alley that anyone could walk into at any moment, but it’s been a while since Dean has looked at him like that, so all that worrying can wait. (Besides, isn’t that partly why they’re in this position at all?)

“Say something,” Richard pleads. But Dean’s only reply is to pull him down to him for another kiss, this one hotter and more urgent. Richard lets out a sigh as Dean’s lips slide familiarly against his own, and firmly ignores the fact that half of why this is happening is because Dean is drunk as a skunk. That is, at least, until Dean’s hand slides down between the two of them and cops a feel between Richard’s legs.

Grudgingly, Richard pulls away. “Don’t,” he mutters, “Not here. Not now. You’re drunk, and if it’s going to happen again, I want you to actually remember it, and not regret it in the morning. In the meantime, I’m going to get you home and stay with you until you fall asleep to make sure nothing happens to you.”

“You sure that’s all you’re going to do?” Dean asks. He tries to raise an eyebrow at him, but it seems that even that is a little inebriated.

“Yes, I’m sure,” Richard chuckles, “I take it you’ve forgiven me then?”

“Not yet,” Dean tells him, “But you’re getting there. Now move your ass before I grab it and do things to you that you’re definitely not going to be able to tell your children about ever.”

Richard moves away to let Dean off of the wall and walk in front of him. He tries to fight down the grin spreading across his face as he follows behind, taking his keys from his pocket as he goes.

~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~

**~ THE END. ~**


	3. GORMITAGE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: I have this head canon where Richard overhears that interviewer talking with D and A,chick asks that when did they meet and D goes "it's like we're dating!" and A responds "I know!". So, Richard overhears them and even if he knows that it's all fun and giggles, he still gets all jelly and 20 mins before the premiere, he drags D in bathroom and fucks him 6 ways to sunday. Richard would be all smug as Deano is having difficulties sitting through the movie,thanks to his sore behind.

_Men’s room. 2 nd floor. Left wing. NOW._

That’s it. That’s the text message. Dean casts his eyes up from his phone and scans the lobby, but in vain. Tall as Richard is, Dean can’t seem to spot him anywhere. Dean is only vaguely aware of his brows beginning to move towards his nose as his confusion starts to spread outward from his brain. It’s then that Aidan, good old Aidan with the seemingly impeccable timing, decides to show up, wrapping an arm around Dean’s shoulders and laughing at whatever it is he was told by whoever it was he was just talking to.

“There you are!” Aidan declares gleefully, like a 5 year old who has just found his hide-and-seek playmate, “Been looking everywhere for you!”

Dean quickly pockets his phone again; that’s not something he wants Aidan to see, not now. “Have you now?” he asks distractedly, “Sorry, I’m…” But he doesn’t really know what to say that he is at that point that will convince Aidan.

“You’re not drinking?” Aidan notices, “Hold on, I’ll go get you a drink. I’m so excited, aren’t you?”

And before Dean can even think of a suitable reply, Aidan is gone, apparently on the hunt for wine or champagne.

Another text message.

_No bloody time. Where. Are. You._

Urgency, bordering on frustration. Maybe even irritation. Maybe even anger. That last one in particular goes straight to Dean’s groin, and he coughs to mask a rather undignified whimper that had crawled out of his throat at the mere thought of an angry Richard. He’s not the aggressive type, is Richard. Not all the time, anyway. Not until he’s pushed enough. And boy, does Dean enjoy pushing Richard.

Still, Dean weaves in and out of the crowd and finally finds his way to the staircase. Surreptitiously looking to see if anyone was watching, he climbs, trying to look _normal_ and _fine_ and _not at all in a hurry_ and _no, that’s really just the way my pants tent when I have both my hands in my pockets_ as he makes his way to the men’s room on the 2nd floor. Luckily, he’s been here before a few times, he knows exactly where he’s going. He’s just hoping no one else does.

He’s barely past the door when Richard grabs his arm and pulls him in, shoving him against a wall and locking the door behind him.

“Where’ve you been?” he asks, all rich darkness and velvety frustration.

“Sorry,” is the first thing out of Dean’s mouth, but he only fleetingly regrets it because of the look on Richard’s face as he advances on him, not unlike a lion checking out potential prey, “Got held up.”

“I’ll bet,” Richard sneers, so close now that Dean can smell his aftershave, “By your ‘boyfriend,’ no doubt.”

Arousal gives way to confusion, and Dean’s face nearly all converges in the middle as he looks up at Richard in askance. “What even in…” he begins, but he realizes almost right away, “You heard that little joke on the carpet?”

“It was on the speakers, Dean,” Richard informs him in a tone that suggests he thinks Dean should have known, “Everybody heard.”

“It was just a joke,” Dean says, but he can’t seem to leave the apology out of his voice, “I didn’t mean anything by it. I mean, she really made it sound like we were dating!”

“And Aidan seemed to get a REAL kick out of it, didn’t he?” Richard snorts, hands already working quickly on Dean’s belt, “Couldn’t keep the stupid bloody grin off of his pretty little face.”

“If I didn’t know any better, _Uncle_ ,” Dean teases back, letting Richard do all the work, because hey, why not, “I’d say you were jealous.”

“Watch your mouth, Deano,” Richard breathes, smirking as the button on Dean’s trousers pops open easily under his practiced fingers, “I’m in a mood to make you pay for that.”

“Now, would that really be so bad?” Dean pouts, biting his bottom lip when Richard’s fingers brush feather-like against his still clothed but quickly hardening cock.

“Don’t push me,” Richard hisses, working on his own pants, “We don’t have a lot of time, and you kept me waiting.”

“I wanted to see what you’d do,” Dean lies, as if it had been his plan all along.

“Be careful what you wish for,” Richard warns gruffly. He kisses Dean then, hard and rough and hot and hungry, trapping Dean’s smaller frame between himself and the wall. Dean lets out something that’s halfway between a desperate moan and a submissive mewl when Richard’s tongue finds its way into his mouth, and all the while Dean is struggling to keep from rutting against Richard’s hips. He can feel Richard’s erection pressing against him, demanding and impatient, and barely able to contain himself anymore, he reaches down between their bodies and gropes at it greedily, stroking him against the cloth of his boxers.

“Fuck yes,” Richard growls against his lips, fishing in his pockets for something that turns out to be –

“That has got to be the tiniest tube of lube I’ve ever seen,” Dean remarks, trying to keep from laughing, “Although I think the real issue here is that you packed that and a condom to a fucking movie premiere at all.”

“I didn’t think I was going to last until we got back to the hotel, to be honest,” Richard explains, and Dean thinks he can see the faintest hint of a blush, “Not when you’re looking as dapper as you do.”

“Or did,” Dean corrects him, taking the condom from Richard and ripping the package open with his teeth. A sense of hurry has descended upon the both of them, but Dean can’t tell if it’s because they really don’t have time, or they’re both really just that horny.

With a muttered curse, Richard pushes off his underwear, and almost immediately Dean’s hand closes around his manhood, stroking him long and slow from base to head, and Richard’s eyes nearly roll to the back of his head, it’s so fucking good. He squeezes some lube onto his fingers as Dean puts the rubber on him then proceeds to push his own bottoms down as far as they would go.

Without warning, Richard falls to his knees, mouth closing around Dean’s half-hard dick. A guttural cry rips itself out of Dean’s throat, and for a few seconds, Dean forgets to breathe. Richard is working him quick with lips and tongue and teeth, and it’s all Dean can do to not thrust into his pliant mouth when Richard’s cheeks hollow to suck on him. He very nearly loses it when he feels two slicked fingers slide into him, and move in time with Richard’s mouth on his erection, opening him up and stretching him. It won’t be enough though, Dean knows. It almost never is.

It’s over way too soon. When Richard pulls away and withdraws his hand, Dean lets out a full-on growl in protest, but Richard kisses him again to silence him, and almost instantly, Dean’s body slackens in compliance. And when Richard orders – ORDERS – him to turn around in a labored whisper, Dean is too quick to obey.

Richard wastes little time. With one hand on Dean’s hip, the other around himself, he positions his dick at Dean’s entrance, and in one smooth move, buries himself deep inside Dean. It’s pain and heat and pleasure, and Dean is nearly blinded by how good it all feels. He muffles his cry in the arm planted against the wall in front of his face, and can just barely hear himself and Richard breathing hard but together, rhythm and pace matching, like some sort of sordid duet.

“You all right?” Richard asks against the skin of his nape.

“Yeah, just…” Dean trails off, and he manages a slight chuckle, “Fucking move, we don’t have time.”

And move Richard does. He pulls nearly all the way out, only to shove right back in, rocking Dean’s entire body and making him cry out again. But there’s no time to drag anything out. Planting a hand on the wall for support, Richard starts fucking into Dean at a quick pace, hips pistoning against his body as he grunts and growls low. Dean is slick and tight and hot around him, and he can’t lie and say that he’s not particularly enjoying the sight of Dean’s ass bouncing – there’s really no other word for it – against his pelvis.

“Fucking good, Dean,” Richard murmurs against the shell of Dean’s ear, “Not gonna last long.”

“We can’t anyway,” Dean laughs, “Oh _fuck_ , Rich, don’t stop…”

He doesn’t. He moves a little faster, a little rougher, loving every sound that comes out of Dean’s mouth and stops behind his teeth or in his hand or, at some point, in Richard’s wrist. The way Dean is moving back to meet him thrust for thrust tells Richard that Dean’s just as desperate as he is, if not more. He wraps a hand tightly around Dean’s hard-on, stroking him in time with his hips, and Dean moans long and loud, his knees buckling and nearly pitching him to the ground. Richard muffles his own sounds against Dean’s shoulder, breathing in the scent of their sex mingling with his cologne.

“Oh God…fuck, Richard,” Dean moans, trying to rut into Richard’s fist and back into his hips at the same time, “That’s so fucking good, baby…Fuck, almost there, keep going…”

Mouthy little fuck, Dean is, but that’s just the point. That’s Dean. That’s _his_ Dean. No one else’s Dean. Just his. And he’ll take him for every little quirk, every little nuance that makes him _his fucking Dean._

Dean finally makes up his mind and presses his back into Richard’s chest. It’s the most contact they have, the most they can get at this point, and he feels Richard’s chest heave as he lets out a loving sigh. “Gonna come, Rich,” Dean barely manages to say, “So fucking close.”

Richard repays him by twisting his wrist just as he reaches the head of Dean’s cock, at the same time angling his hips so that he hits that magic button inside him at just the right speed and pressure. Dean swears loudly, close to actually thanking him for getting there at last, but at this point (and because the door’s locked anyway), Richard doesn’t care if anybody might pass by and hear them. He repeats the movement over and over again, every sound falling from Dean’s insanely sexy lips driving him closer and closer to his own release. He can hear and feel Dean’s breathing becoming more and more erratic by the second, just as the fire in his own belly starts to really spread, and he knows it’s just a matter of seconds.

“Harder, Rich,” Dean urges, “Give me all you fucking got, baby.”

It’s not like Richard can say no to him, not when he’s sounding like that, not when he’s so hot and fucking tight, and begging – BEGGING – him. One hard thrust, two, three, and then the fourth, coupled with a particularly good twist on his dick, does the trick. Swearing and panting and crying out Richard’s name, Dean comes hard and messy all over Richard’s hand, although someone is definitely going to be wondering what that stain on the wall is tomorrow morning. Barely giving Dean time to start recovering, Richard sacrifices roughness for pace, urgent for his own climax. He tells Dean to say his name one more time, he fucking LOVES the way his name sounds in Dean’s voice, and when Dean does, Richard is done, he’s fucking _done_. Colors explode behind his tightly closed eyelids, and he groans hard into Dean’s shoulder, chest heaving as he struggles to get his breathing back to normal even as he barely finishes spending himself.

It’s a while before Richard can find the strength to pull out of Dean, who is chuckling breathlessly to himself. “I should let you punish me more often,” he says.

“Don’t push your luck,” Richard replies, but he laughs too, because he knows he’d only be too eager to give Dean what he wants, “You okay?”

“I’m peachy, mate,” Dean breathes, smiling still, “Gonna be sore for a while, but you and I both know I’m not one to complain about that.”

“Not in front of the others anyway,” Richard snorts, “Speaking of which…” He checks his watch, and notices they’ve got about 5 minutes before the movie is supposed to start. “We’ve gotta get going.”

“Must we?” Dean protests, “Can’t we just —”

“No, we cannot just,” Richard interrupts, starting to pull himself together, “Well, _I_ cannot just, anyway. You can stay here if you want to.”

Dean flips him off, but he starts to clean off and dress too. Richard washes his hands at the sink, as well as he possibly can. Dean follows him there, but only to kiss Richard’s shoulder. “Thank you,” he says with a tiny grin, dimple demanding attention.

“For what?” Richard asks, because really, who the hell says “thank you” after a damn good shag.

“For being a jealous little prick,” Dean teases, and he makes for the door before Richard can physically retaliate.

“I’ll show you whose prick is little,” Richard says after him as Dean, laughing, disappears through the door.

_**~ THE END. ~** _


	4. GORMITAGE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: Could you write some Gormitage smut with Richard being completely submissive?

Richard lets out a small, muffled gasp as Dean tightens the necktie around his wrists. The cloth bites into his skin a little, and by the tiny smirk that Dean doesn’t even mind hiding, Richard knows he likes it that way. By the way his own erection jerked a bit, Richard can tell he kind of likes it himself too.

Being tied up is nothing new to Richard. It’s happened to him so many times for shows and movies and stuff. Still, he had never really thought he’d be tied naked and hard to a bed, least ways by a man who he usually can overpower just by size alone. But Dean had been sneaky about it, kissing him so hotly his mind had basically gone quite numb until it was too late.

Not that he minds, though. Not when Dean’s straddling him and looking at him like he could eat him up, eyes all dark with lust and thin lips parted deliciously as he admires his own handiwork.

“Dean —” Richard starts to say.

“Shush,” Dean interrupts, kissing him hard just for good measure, “You’re going to do exactly as I say, or I leave you here like this for the grips to walk in on.”

“I wasn’t going to complain or anything,” Richard replies with a small smile of his own.

Dean tugs at the necktie, and it tightens ever so slightly, but enough to cut some pain into Richard’s wrist. “What did I say about shushing?” Dean warns, and Richard swears he could get off just on the firm authority in Dean’s tone, “Not another peep out of you unless I say so. Yes?”

Richard nearly answers, but thinks better of it, and nods instead. The smile that spreads wide across Dean’s face is downright lecherous.

“Good,” he sighs, “because I know of something else to occupy that pretty mouth of yours.”

Richard isn’t sure what’s gotten into Dean to make him act this way, but he’s liking it more and more with every passing second. He licks his lips unconsciously as Dean gets off of him just long enough to rid himself of his jeans and boxers at last. When Dean gets back on top of Richard, he positions himself so that his legs are on either side of Richard’s shoulders. Not exactly an easy feat, to be perfectly honest, but Dean manages. Richard doesn’t wait for Dean to say it, he just takes Dean’s cock in his mouth. Leaning forward on just his neck is a little straining, but when Dean lets out a sharp gasp at the hot, wet contact, Richard knows it’s all worth it.

“Fuck yes,” Dean moans low, a hand combing through Richard’s hair until he’s holding his head to him. He moves his hips slow, but it’s obvious to Richard that he’s just barely in control of it. Richard uses teeth and tongue on the sensitized skin of Dean’s erection, and Dean grinds out encouragement and swears and prayers, trying to keep his noise down. He’s looking down, watching his dick appear and disappear into Richard’s mouth over and over again, and when Richard hollows his cheeks to suck hard, Dean lets out a growl that comes from deep inside him, and his hips stutter slightly, nearly pushing him to the back of Richard’s throat.

“God, you’re fucking good at this,” Dean groans, his other hand clutching onto the headboard for support, “Oooh shit, Rich, baby, just like that…”

Richard wants to touch him, but he forgets he’s tied up, and just ends up squirming against his restraints. The realization that Dean is controlling him even without actually touching him is like a shot of alcohol right to Richard’s brain, and his hips buck slightly. Above him, Dean chuckles, and bends forward a little to plant an almost loving kiss on Richard’s fingers. In retaliation, Richard tongues the slit on the head of Dean’s dick, and Dean gasps out loud.

“Bastard,” Dean hisses, pulling away from Richard, and surprising him with a hungry, bruising kiss, “Stop trying to get the upper hand on me, or I leave. We both know that’ll hurt you more than me. I’m pretty sure Aidan isn’t busy.”

Richard struggles a little against his bonds, trying to indicate wordlessly that he doesn’t want that, that he wants Dean to stay with him, Aidan can go screw himself into the 7th circle of hell because he’s not quite ready to give Dean up so quickly.

“Are you gonna keep fighting me, Rich?” Dean asks, and Richard shakes his head no, “Good. I think that deserves a little bit of a reward.”

Dean winks at him a little before slinking down Richard’s body, kissing at his skin. He dips his tongue a bit into Richard’s navel, and Richard bites back a sigh. Dean moves even lower, but not where Richard so desperately needs him to go. Dean’s tongue moves along his pelvis, and the skin where his thighs start, always coming so dangerously close but never actually going there. It’s bittersweet torture, and the longer Dean stays away, the more desperate Richard gets. Richard writhes a little, trying to get Dean to _accidentally_ go there so then he wouldn’t have a choice, but Dean just chuckles at him.

“And now I’ve got you _begging_ ,” Dean says, “This just keeps getting better and better. Well, since you asked so _nicely_ …”

And finally, FINALLY, Dean’s lips close around the head of Richard’s erection. Richard grits his teeth and groans behind them, his back arching as Dean sucks sharply on just the head, one hand closed snugly around the base of his shaft.Dean starts moving his mouth on Richard’s cock, and Dean clutches at the necktie binding him to the headboard as he fights the urge to vocalize just how talented Dean’s mouth is. He can feel Dean moaning around him, his hand tight and following the path his lips are taking, twisting as they go up. When Dean adds his tongue to the mix, hollowing his cheeks as he sucks, it’s all Richard can do to not cry out. His hips buck again, thrusting his dick further inside Dean’s mouth, and Dean actually moans heatedly.

Almost as if in appreciation (or just more torture), Dean releases Richard’s hard-on with a slight _pop_ , replacing his mouth with his quick-moving, tight gripped stroking. Flattening himself on what little space is left on the bed, he places his tongue instead on Richard’s sensitive perineum, and Richard’s mouth falls open, a labored moan escaping him uncontrolled. Richard’s grip on the necktie convulses as Dean’s tongue dips even lower, and his chest heaves as he breathes hard through his arousal. It’s not a sensation Richard has been on the receiving end of before, and Richard finds it so damn good it’s nearly mind-numbing.

Dean hasn’t protested to him making noises, so when Dean’s finger presses slowly into his hole, Richard makes a sound that’s incredibly uncharacteristic, and damn near undignified. All of Dean’s ministrations suddenly slow down, and Richard squirms in protest. But then Dean’s tongue is there again, and another finger joins the first one, and Richard is reduced to a limpid pool of nerves, energy and gasps. Dean lifts his head to watch Richard’s face run the gamut of emotions as he moves his fingers inside him.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Dean breathes almost more to himself, kissing at Richard’s inner thigh, “So fucking beautiful, and you don’t even know.”

For the first time that afternoon, Richard is thankful that Dean has told him not to say anything, because really, what the fuck do you say to something like that said by someone who’s slowly fucking you open with his fingers? Especially when they’re moving and twisting and curling their fingers so damn good until –

“Aha,” Dean says with a small smile when Richard gasps hard and nearly jumps off the bed, “Found it.”

“ _Fuck_ , Dean,” Richard whimpers, writhing to get more contact from him, even as Dean brushes his prostate with his fingers again.

“Shit, I’d love to,” Dean tells him honestly, “But not yet, I don’t think you’re quite there yet.”

Richard growls behind gritted teeth, half in frustration and half in plea.

“Sshh now,” Dean coos, kissing Richard’s knee soothingly even as he quickens the pace of his fingers and the fist around Richard’s cock a little, just enough for it to start to hurt, “Soon, baby, soon.”

Up until this moment, Richard had not known that he could want something like that, let alone this badly, let alone this badly _from Dean_. When the friction from Dean’s dry fingers actually starts to burn, Richard jerks. Dean gets the message and withdraws his fingers. Either in apology or just because he’s missing it, he takes Richard’s erection in his mouth again, bobbing his head to take as much of him in as possible. Richard’s sigh has more than a little contentment mixed in, and when Dean’s hand climbs slowly up his muscled chest, Richard bites his lip in an effort to get himself under control again.

Richard’s heels dig into the bed as he writhes beneath Dean, and before he can help himself, his hips are doing shallow thrusts into Dean’s mouth. Dean holds his hips down with both hands, and Richard whimpers. Dean’s mouth inches along Richard’s dick until he’s holding it inside. Not for the first time in his life, Richard finds himself silently thanking whichever deity decided to gift Dean with a lack of gag reflex. When the sensation becomes too much, Richard swears out loud, and that’s when Dean releases him, breathing hard and shallow. He kisses his way back up Richard’s body until he’s kissing Richard’s mouth, his tongue invading almost immediately.

“Fuck me,” Dean says roughly, grinding his hips down against Richard’s. Richard’s only response is to moan low, his eyes nearly rolling to the back of his head as his cock rubs against Dean’s slick skin. Dean quickly makes with the condom and the lube, and Richard half wonders how Dean even has enough wits about him to prep himself, albeit quickly.

Grasping Richard’s erection in his hand, Dean slowly sinks onto him, and Richard growls hard deep in his throat. The sound that comes out of Dean’s pretty lips is less authoritative, but it still does the most interesting things to Richard’s blood. Half-panting, Dean stays still for what feels, to Richard, like an eternity as he lets himself adjust. Richard’s not sure how much longer he can keep himself under control, especially if Dean isn’t going to move within the next millisecond.

But Dean does. He drives himself even lower onto Richard’s manhood, a little faster this time, and a desperate whimper is stifled in his throat. He settles into a more comfortable position on top of Richard, and then the fun really begins. Dean’s hips grind smooth and hard against Richard’s body, his eyes trained on Richard’s face. Richard grits his teeth in an effort to keep his noise level down to a bare minimum, but Dean sounds and feels just _so fucking good_ , and it’s literally nearly too much to take. Richard hears himself begging in his head for Dean to fucking command him to move himself, because he can’t, he CAN’T, just lie there, he’s not going to last.

Almost as if reading Richard’s mind, Dean manages to breathe out, “Fucking move for me, Rich. Come on, babe, make it good. For both of us.”

That’s all the encouragement that Richard needs. Still tied firmly to the headboard, he plants his feet firmly on the mattress, raising his knees up and causing Dean to fall forward a little, a hand just above Richard’s crazily racing heart. Somehow he manages to maneuver under Dean so that when he thrusts up into Dean, he immediately hits that magic spot inside him. Not that he needed to search for it, he already knows where it is. The cry that tears itself from Dean’s mouth is full and throaty, eyes slamming shut and jaw falling slack.

“Fuck,” Dean pants, “Do that again.”

Richard’s hips move just as Dean’s do, pulling apart only to meet ferociously again, Richard burying himself nearly to the hilt inside Dean. The noise that Dean lets out borders on animalistic, and it’s fucking delicious. Dean claws at his chest, his expression a divine cross between pleasure and pain. Richard starts to grind up into him, languid at first so that Dean meets him thrust for thrust. But then Richard picks up the pace, his eyes never leaving Dean’s face as it runs a gamut of emotions everytime Richard’s cock touches his prostate. Dean’s own erection is caught between their quickly dampening bodies, and Dean leans forward even more, one hand clutching like death’s grip onto the headboard, letting the friction do what Richard’s bound hands are itching to.

“Talk to me, Rich,” Dean grunts, “Tell me how this feels.”

“Fucking good, Deano,” Richard replies immediately, short of breath but not in stamina as he continues to fuck him from below, “Shit, I love how tight you are.”

“That’s for you, mate,” Dean reassures him breathlessly, the whisper of a smile forming in the corners of his lips, “That’s always for you.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Richard moans, hands balling into fists, “Need to touch you, _please_.”

“Not yet,” Dean answers, and Richard growls in protest, “Make me come first, and don’t fucking come until I say you can.”

Before Richard can let out a violent reaction, Dean kisses him, swallowing every sound he makes and replacing them with his own. He’s moving with Richard now, and they grind together in the same direction, the same pace, the same desperate roughness. Richard focuses on Dean’s sweet spot, trying to make it so damn good that he cracks or comes, whichever comes first. He’s not used to this, to taking orders from someone, to being at someone else’s mercy, to submit to someone else’s will, but he’d be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t enjoying it. But Dean has been teasing him all week, brushing up against him surreptitiously and touching him just a little more than necessary while on set, but staying as far away as possible when they were finally free, answering his calls and texts with only a wink or a smiley or a “Soon.” If Dean hadn’t sauntered his way into his trailer that afternoon, Richard probably would have lost his mind and just thrown him down in the middle of studio B and fucked the smug little smile off his ridiculously pretty face in front of everyone. He’s at breaking point, and all he wants is to get what Dean has been promising him all week.

Above Richard, Dean spits into his own hand and maneuvers it down between the two of them, until he’s got a nice tight grip on his hard-on. He jerks himself to the rhythm and beat of Richard’s movements, and Richard can’t take his eyes off of what Dean’s doing. Before long, the pitch of Dean’s voice rises slightly, his movements becoming erratic, and his entrance convulsing around Richard’s cock.

“Nearly there, Richard,” Dean mewls, “Oh shit, you’re amazing…Can you feel that, Rich? Feel how close I bloody am? God, you’re gonna make me come so hard…”

Richard slows down, but thrusts in harder, and Dean just about goes absolutely boneless. Richard is gritting his teeth with the effort, but the look on Dean’s face, the way his sweaty skin is all flushed, the way Dean is clamping down so fucking good around him makes it all worth it. His name is falling from Dean’s lips like a mantra, or a prayer, like he’s forgotten that any other word exists. When the hand that Dean’s got on the headboard finds one of Richard’s, their fingers intertwining and gripping each other tightly, Richard knows it’s just a matter of seconds.

And indeed it is. When Dean’s orgasm finally does hit, it’s unceremonious almost to a fault. He buries his face in Richard’s shoulder, and doesn’t quite get past the “CH” in Richard’s name before he’s whimpering incoherently, body shuddering on top of Richard who just really, really wants to touch him now, to hold him and keep him there, for fuck’s sake. Dean’s release splatters between his fingers and between their stomachs. Richard stops moving as Dean struggles to normalize his breathing, pressing fleeting kisses on Richard’s damp skin. When Dean starts chuckling to himself, Richard wriggles against the scarf tying his wrists together.

“Oh yeah,” Dean laughs, “Forgot.” With tired but deft fingers, Dean starts to untie Richard, who has an unreadable expression on his face.

When his wrists are finally free, Richard gives him a tiny smile. “Thank you,” he says quietly. Before Dean can reply, Richard pulls him down and kisses him fervently. His hands travel quickly down the rest of Dean’s body until they’re clutching and kneading at Dean’s ass. He starts to move in and out of Dean again, slowly at first, and Dean sighs into their kiss. Gradually, his movements grow in desperation, his cock finding and hitting Dean’s prostate again.

“ _Jesus,_ ” Dean breathes, fingers digging into Richard’s shoulders, “Oh _fuck_ , Richard, I fucking love you.”

Richard can’t find words to respond with, and settles for growling behind clenched teeth. He tightens his grip on Dean’s waist, holding him up and keeping him still, before pounding into him hard and quick, desperate for his own climax. Dean’s manhood is soon hard again, and Dean stops trying to punch holes into Richard’s skin with his fingers to stroke himself again. His mouth has fallen slack and open again, but neither he nor Richard can find the strength to make any more sound other than the occasional grunt. The thought of what else Dean’s mouth could be doing before they’re done here brings a familiar and entirely welcome coiling and heat to Richard’s belly. His rhythm falters, but he keeps moving, getting closer…closer still…so _fucking_ close now…

“Gonna come, Dean,” he grinds out, “give me your mouth again.”

Dean can’t move fast enough. He hauls himself off of Richard, and the momentary loss of contact gives Richard only temporary relief before the rubber is off and the wet heat of Dean’s mouth engulfs him, his tongue working the swollen vein running down his cock. Dean bobs up and down quickly, his hand following his lips. Richard’s back arches slightly as he moans Dean’s name, a hand finding Dean’s messy curls, and pulling just a little too tightly when Richard finally, _finally_ , orgasms. He comes down Dean’s throat, and Dean swallows without hesitation. With a muffled cry, Dean follows suit, trembling a little as his second release hits him just as Richard’s winds down. Breathing heavily, Dean lets Richard go, slumping against the wall to the side of the bed, laughing rather smugly to himself again.

“You okay?” he asks Richard, face tilted up at the ceiling, a sated smile on his lips.

“How the fuck did I ever let you talk me into letting you tie me up?” Richard asks, rubbing at his wrists, “You tie a mean knot.”

“Didn’t want you to get away,” Dean replies, “That would’ve ruined the whole point, I think.”

“I’m going to get you back for this,” Richard threatens, but Dean just chortles at him.

“I’m sure you will,” he answers, “I might even be looking forward to it.”

“You won’t be before I’m done with you,” Richard remarks, “That, I can promise you.”

“We’ll see,” Dean shoots back, getting up from the bed, “Come on, we’d better get dressed. They’re going to start wondering where the hell we are. Although we can always say you were _tied up_ and it wouldn’t exactly be a lie, would it?”

Dean isn’t anywhere near off the bed before Richard starts counting off all the ways he’s going to make Dean pay for this.


	5. GORMITAGE, some AIDEAN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: Hi! Gormitage plz! Richard is jealous of how close Aidan is to Dean, how easily he can make him laugh and how touchy feely they are.

Jealousy. It’s not a feeling anyone who knows Richard personally would ever associate with him, and it’s not a feeling he’s used to having. He’s a usually calm, laid back, patient guy, hard to faze and always handy with a smile or two. He’s not one for negativity in himself, not when there’s already so much of it out there.

And yet there it is, bubbling and boiling somewhere in the deepest recesses of his consciousness, in places no one talks about at parties. Every so often something happens that turns the heat up, and it rears its ugly head, like a snake catching the scent of prey. But Richard is a calm, laid back, patient man, and he fights it down, bats it away. It’s not easy, and it hasn’t been getting any easier at all.

Richard supposes these feelings can’t really be justified anyway. Dean is the kind of guy you just want to get along with the moment you see him. He’s as comfortable speaking with Peter Jackson or with Ian McKellen as he is the people at craft services. It’s almost like he’s friends with everybody. It just so happens that he and Aidan have been cast in roles that need to bond as if they’ve known each other all their lives.

At least, that’s what Richard tells himself.

That’s what Richard tells himself when Dean and Aidan get caught up in their own little world, chatting and laughing across the table they’re sharing with the other Dwarves but not really part of their conversation. It doesn’t start that way, anyway. It’s always Aidan who manages to say something that Dean will latch on to, and then they’re gone. It’s nobody’s fault, really, it’s just their nature.

It’s also what Richard tells himself when Aidan steals Dean away to study and rehearse the new sides they’re given almost everyday. Fili and Kili are rarely ever separated on screen, which means most of their scenes are acted together. Richard certainly can’t fault them for that. Besides, Dean is always so impeccably polite and apologetic about leaving to go spend some time alone with Aidan. To _concentrate_ , yeah, that’s it, to _concentrate_ on learning everything before they have to shoot the scene in the afternoon, or the next day, or the next week. That’s not Dean’s fault, nor is it Aidan’s fault.

That’s what Richard tells himself when he catches Aidan always sitting just a little too close to Dean in their tent between scenes. It’s close enough to get contact, but not so close as to be questioned by anybody (other than Richard, who isn’t watching them at all, no way, don’t be crazy). It’s really subtle anyway. Sometimes Aidan will cross his legs in such a way that his knee or his foot brushes featherlike against Dean, who never makes any indication that he’s noticed.

Or maybe Aidan will reach up to brush the hair out of his own eyes, only to do the same for Dean, who will bristle at him just a tiny bit because he’s “short, but not a child, dammit.”

And then there are those times when Dean, after a long fighting sequence, will start rubbing at his neck or tilting his head this way and that to relieve some body pain, and before anyone can say anything, Aidan is automatically there, kneading Dean’s shoulders or giving his back a quick massage, which Dean probably doesn’t feel anyway because there are just too many costume layers between Aidan’s fingers and Dean’s skin. That doesn’t, however, explain why Dean seems to enjoy that quite a bit. But no, Richard thinks to himself, Dean’s just really grateful to Aidan for being such a great friend, because yeah, that’s what he is. Aidan is Dean’s _really great friend_.

It’s what Richard tells himself when, in between takes, Aidan will just randomly come up behind Dean and engulf him in a hug, which really just looks like a kitten trying to play with a little mouse or something, even with the lifts in Dean’s boots. Dean doesn’t push him away though, even smiles at Aidan for it sometimes, and nobody else seems to have a problem with it. As a matter of fact, the others tease them a little bit about it, but then Aidan just likes to hug people, and that’s just why Dean does things – for the hugs. Dean’s just really huggable, and Aidan’s just really…hug-gy. If that’s even a word. So it’s nothing, really. Just…two grown men who like to hug. A lot. It’s _nothing_.

Okay, there WAS that one time someone slipped, Richard can’t remember if it was James or Graham or Adam or some unnamed fucker who was very lucky that his neck managed to escape without having been strangled by Richard’s _calm, laid back patient_ hands, and called out “AIDEAN” instead of “AIDAN AND DEAN.” They had both turned at the same time, and Richard swears he could have gotten sick all over his majestic fur coat (he had instead settled for throwing up a little in his mouth) at how cute their combined laughter had sounded together. Even their god-forsaken _names_ fit well together. _Aidean_. Richard had excused himself, gone very quickly back to the Dwarf tent, and introduced his prosthetic forehead to one of the posts holding it up just to keep himself in check. Unfortunately, the moniker had stuck, so anytime anyone needed the two of them together (which was 85% of the time), that’s how they were called, or even written into the call sheets.

But no, that isn’t even the worst of it. The worst is when they’re all out together at the end of a really grueling week, at a pub or at someone’s place, putting their tired feet up and filling their proverbial tanks up with all manners of alcohol available. Aidan’s got the love of drinks innate to Irishmen, but the alcohol tolerance of a newborn puppy. Dean can hold his own with drinks as well, at least until he wakes up the next morning with the world’s worst hangover. Before all that, though, he’s New Zealand’s most entertaining drunk.

At least, until Aidan finds him, clings on to him, and doesn’t let go for the rest of the evening. Soft Aidan, warm Aidan, little ball of drunk Aidan will literally cuddle into Dean, the most ridiculous grin plastered onto his flushed face. He’ll bury his face in Dean’s neck, or pick at his shoulder, or lay his head on Dean’s lap and just stay there until he falls asleep.

And Dean, the little shit, not only lets him, he _encourages_ him. When Aidan goes for his neck, he puts his arm around and holds him there like he’s become glued to him. When Aidan goes for his shoulder, Dean boops him on the nose with a finger or his knuckles. When Aidan goes for Dean’s lap, Dean shushes him and strokes his hair until Aidan is asleep.

It’s all so sweet and adorable and cute and _way past the point of friend-_ ly that it’s all Richard can do to not murder them in their sleep. So he sits there and broods into his drink, or lets James or Ian talk his ear off just to have something else to fail pretending to focus on.

It all finally comes to a head when, as one of these after-work parties winds down at Richard’s house, Dean approaches him in the kitchen and asks if Aidan can stay the night.

Richard nearly spits out the last of his wine.

“Stay?” he asks, struggling to regain his composure, “Stay here? Whatever for?”

“He’s completely out, mate,” Dean replies, leaning against the island counter in the middle of the kitchen to stay out of Richard’s way as he busies himself with tidying up, “I _told_ him not to get into it with Graham, he only THINKS he’s got an iron liver, does Aidan, but he doesn’t. And now he’s out like a light on the couch, and even if I wanted to wake him up, he’s in no fit state to make it back to his own house.”

Richard is about to suggest that maybe Dean should just drive Aidan back to his house if he’s so damn worried about him, but then thinks better of it; what if he decides Aidan needs him there? What if he decides not to come back until the morning? What if they get up to “hanky panky” and “monkey business” and whatever else kids are calling it these days? Could he take it? _Would_ he take it?

_No, and no._

“Fine,” Richard sighs, “At least get him into the spare bedroom, he’ll be more comfortable there.”

Dean claps him on the back. “Thanks, Rich,” he says brightly, “You’re a peach, you really are.”

Richard smiles and waves at Dean until he’s out of the kitchen, and then, with a grumble, smacks himself on the forehead and runs his hand down his face. _Oh, I’m a peach all right. A peachy fucking idiot because I keep letting you do this to me, you oblivious little –_

“Fuck!” Richard gasps. He’s somehow managed to cut his finger on a knife he’s washing. It’s a small wound, but it stings like nobody’s business. He turns on the tap with his other hand and runs the wound under it, watching the blood bloom then flow away with the water, muttering to himself about his own clumsiness. Little by little, the rest of his house guests peek through the entrance to the kitchen to offer help, and then say their goodbyes when he politely refuses (except when Jed and Stephen volunteer to take the trash out). In about 10 minutes, the house is quiet again, and Richard has finished clearing up the kitchen.

The living room isn’t in as bad a state as it usually could be after they’ve all hung out, and Richard is only half-relieved. There goes something else he can do to keep himself busy in the morning. Figuring there’s nothing for it, he’ll just have to find something else to distract himself with tomorrow, he starts to straighten things out. It’s then that Dean emerges from the spare room, closing the door as quietly as he possibly can.

“Aidan’s sleeping,” Dean says in answer to the question Richard had absolutely no intention of asking, “I left him some aspirin, so he should be okay by breakfast. Maybe.”

“Good,” Richard replies disinterestedly, continuing to fluff the throw pillows beyond the point of 100% cotton and down fluffiness.

“Richard, are you okay?” Dean asks, and it seems like there’s genuine concern in his tone.

“Fine,” Richard answers with a dismissive shrug, “I’m okay. Tired, I guess.”

“You’re bleeding,” Dean observes. When Richard looks up at him, it’s to see worry creasing his head and furrowing his brows.

“Oh yeah,” Richard says, turning his gaze back down to his sliced finger, “Little accident at the sink. It’s nothing.”

“Of course it isn’t,” Dean admonishes, disappearing into the guest bathroom. He reappears seconds later with cotton, a bottle of rubbing alcohol and a band-aid. “Give me your hand.”

“It’s nothing,” Richard says again, but Dean tuts at him and takes his hand anyway. Richard relents.

“This is gonna sting,” Dean warns gently. Very gingerly, he drops alcohol onto the shallow wound, making Richard hiss at the pain and nearly draw his hand back. But then Dean is blowing softly on it, and it’s a lot more soothing than Richard would like to admit even to himself. Dean takes the cotton and dries the rest of the alcohol away, before carefully wrapping the band-aid around the offended finger. As if for good measure, Dean plants a tiny little kiss on the now protected cut.

“All better?” Dean asks with a divine little grin.

Richard kicks himself mentally. “Yes, thanks,” he says, taking his hand back, “Listen, why don’t you go on ahead in the bath before me? I expect you’ll want some sleep yourself now, and I’ve got to just finish up out here.”

Richard doesn’t see it, but Dean cocks his head to one side and regards him with squinted eyes. “Is something the matter?” he asks, “I mean, besides the finger?”

Richard shakes his head, but doesn’t turn to look at Dean. “Nothing’s the matter,” he lies, “What makes you think anything would be?”

“It’s just…” Dean trails off, moving around so that he’s in Richard’s line of sight, “You’ve been acting pretty weird lately.”

“Weird?” Richard echoes.

“Yeah,” Dean replies, “Weird. Not all the time, but I’ve noticed something different about you.”

“Such as?” Richard inquires, still determinedly not looking at Dean.

“Well, for one thing,” Dean answers, “You’re not smiling as much anymore. You’re a lot more quiet around me, and sometimes you get this expression on your face like you’re either thinking way too hard, or you’re trying not to throw up.”

Just as Richard pats himself on the back in his head for managing to not actually throw up, Dean takes the magazines Richard was about to put back on the center table from him.

“And,” Dean continues, “You hardly look at me anymore.”

“I’m looking at you now,” Richard says to the space just above Dean’s hair.

“Richard, stop it,” Dean demands, hands on his hips and a look of exasperation on his face, “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing is wrong,” Richard tells him again, “If something _was_ wrong, it wouldn’t be something you would have to concern yourself with, so I wouldn’t tell you.”

“It’s Aidan, isn’t it?” Dean says bluntly, actually taking Richard by surprise.

“No,” Richard says at first, but at the steely scrutiny in Dean’s eyes, he backtracks, sighs and says, “Yes.”

Dean shoves his hands into his pockets and shrugs. “Thought as much,” he says, “All right, tell me. What is it about Aidan that’s bothering you?”

“Wait, what?” Richard asks, half-incredulous that this is even happening right now, “I’m not telling you. No way. You’ll tell _him_ and it’ll get worse.”

“How about you stop being a giant 5-year-old right now and just bloody tell me already?” Dean deadpans, crossing his arms in front of him.

Richard sighs, sitting on the armrest of the sofa. Might as well get it out of the way then, it might do them both good. “It’s not even really anything _about_ him,” Richard confesses, “It’s just…he does things that…kind of…really annoys me. I think – and don’t take this the wrong way or anything – I think he’s hanging about you too much. He’s always clinging to you and touching you and holding you, and the both of you are always shutting the rest of us out and basking in each other’s glow and stuff, and it’s just… _annoying_.”

Richard regrets telling Dean all of this when he sees the corners of Dean’s mouth start to turn upwards.

“Richard fucking Armitage,” Dean enunciates slowly and slyly, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were jealous.”

“And if _I_ didn’t know any better, Dean O’fucking-Gorman,” Richard shoots back, “I’d say you’re loving it.”

Dean snorts in an effort to keep from laughing. “Yes,” he says truthfully, “Yes, I am.”

“You smug little bastard,” Richard mutters. Shaking his head, he retreats to his bedroom, taking his shirt, shoes and socks off but hardly bothered to remove anything else. He lies down on his bed, turning onto his side so he’s facing away from the door, and makes a mental note to piss on everything Dean eats from now on.

He’s only half asleep when he hears the door click open. After a brief ruffling of clothes and the heavy thud of shoes being carelessly thrown off and to the floor, the weight of the bed shifts behind and beneath Richard. His arm is then peppered with feather-light kisses, and he has to convince himself that he’s still angry with Dean just to keep from enjoying them.

“Poor Richard,” Dean whispers against his skin, “Poor, jealous Richard.”

“You’re really enjoying it, aren’t you?” Richard asks him.

“I think it’s sweet,” Dean replies, “It just goes to show that you really do care.”

“Doesn’t he know, Dean?” Richard says, turning onto his back only to sit up, “Haven’t you told him?”

“ _We_ haven’t told anyone,” Dean reminds him, “And that’s because _you_ don’t think we’re ready. I personally don’t think we need to tell anyone, just let them find out on their own. Besides, I like the air of mystery and secrecy about all this.”

“I think he likes you,” Richard says, “Aidan. I think he likes you. I think he’s after you.”

“I _know_ he’s after me,” Dean declares, “He thinks he’s being cute and subtle about it. That, or it was always his plan to just gradually become more and more painfully obvious. He keeps trying to get me alone.”

“And you let him,” Richard says pointedly, “Either you really want to go be with him, or you’re leading him on.”

It’s Dean’s turn to sigh heavily. He drops his gaze to the comforter beneath him, and starts picking at the seams of the quilting. “I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t completely mutual,” he admits, “I mean, really, it’s hard to say ‘no’ to him. He’s just…he’s got this way about him…I can’t explain it.”

“I don’t think I want you to,” Richard says bitterly.

“But at the end of the day,” Dean says, a soft, reassuring smile aimed at Richard, “I don’t think it means more to me than it does to him. I think it’s just infatuation, and it’ll pass. Maybe.”

“That’s hardly an encouraging thought,” Richard says.

Dean shakes his head a little. “No, it isn’t,” he agrees, “but this might be.” And he leans into Richard and kisses him so gently that Richard can’t help but kiss back. It’s sweet and sincere, and _enough_. It’s a kiss that says everything that words can’t, and Richard understands. When Dean pulls away, Richard is smiling a little.

“All better?” Dean asks.

“Yes, thanks,” Richard replies, “Well, no, not really. If what you’ve got for him is infatuation, what’s this between us, then?”

“I don’t really know,” Dean says with a small chuckle, “But do you really want to use up brain cells trying to put a word to this, or would you rather just enjoy it as it happens?”

“Well, I definitely prefer enjoying rather than thinking,” Richard mock-contemplates, “If I go with the second option, what else do I get?”

“Me,” Dean says with a smile, “Just me.”

“That’s enough then,” Richard answers, pulling him in for another kiss, this time sweeter and hotter. They spend the next couple of hours locked to and within each other, Richard possessing Dean and Dean reassuring Richard.

In the morning, Aidan joins them at breakfast complaining of a massive headache and having been kept awake for a while at night by a constant and relentless pounding sound from somewhere within the room. He suggests that there might be something living in Richard’s walls. Dean just snorts into his coffee.

  
  
 **_~ END. ~_ **


	6. GORMITAGE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: Hi. Gormitage. After the Hobbit, the cast move on to other projects. Dean has signed to do a little indie film where he plays a gay character (again) and his lover? No other than his own old cast member Richard Armitage. Richard is nervous since this is his first time playing a gay character. Dean helps him relax and 'get into character'. After the 'love scene' Richard can't ignore his new feelings toward Dean and the tightness in his jeans. :-)

**I.**

Richard is happy. Immeasurably happy. It’s a good script, a good role and a good cast, at least so far as his co-star is concerned. Dean is not only a familiar face, he’s a close friend. They already have chemistry, and they’ve already worked together before. Somehow, Richard thinks things will be loads easier this time around without all the Dwarf make-up, hair and costume between them.

“…And that’s when he gives in and kisses him.”

Except for that part.

Richard has no problems at all with homosexuality in general. He’s got friends that are gay, for fuck’s sake. But this _is_ his first gay role ever. EVER. And the interaction between his and Dean’s characters don’t stay completely chaste for very long after they meet. Their characters kiss. Several times. Their characters make love. Twice.

Richard supposes it shouldn’t probably be a problem. He’s done those kinds of scenes before. Just…not with another man. He knows no one would peg him as gay just by looking at him, or running down the roster of characters he’s played in the past 5 years alone. And that’s where the problem truly lies. That’s what’s making him nervous. What if it doesn’t work? What if it isn’t believable because he’s worrying about what it must look like?

He looks across the table at Dean, who is taking in everything with the calmest expression on his face. When he sees Richard looking, he offers him a tiny wave and a little smile. “Later,” he mouths, pointing to his watch. Richard nods, understanding.

It’s a good cast, at least as far as Dean is concerned.

**II.**

“No, you really don’t wanna do that, mate,” Dean says through a mouthful of muffin.

“Why not?” Richard asks, sipping from his coffee, “Wouldn’t it be good exposure?”

Dean shakes his head. “Not really,” he replies, “Those kinds of scenes never look the same in anything they’re done in. I’ve done my fair share of them, and none of them look like each other, trust me. It’s different for every project. It’s really easiest to just go with the flow. Besides, the early 90’s wasn’t a good look for me, hehe.”

“Weren’t you nervous?” Richard inquires, picking at his French toast with his fork, “When you did your first gay scene?”

“Sure,” Dean shrugs, picking up his napkin and dabbing at the bottom of his lip, “All the questions are there. ‘What’s everybody going to think?’ ‘Does this look good?’ ‘Is this really what happens?’ Things like that. But if you dwell, you’ll definitely not get anything done. You tend to get used to it after a while. I think the key is to not think about it from the perspective of two men, but from the perspective of two _people_. That’s where the reality is.”

“Don’t you mean ‘realism?’” Richard chuckles, but Dean shakes his head with a tiny grin.

“No, I mean ‘reality,’” Dean confirms, “Realism is an impression. Reality is the truth. Find the truth in the relationship, and you’ll be just fine, you’ll see. We’ll help each other out, no worries.”

Dean gives him a bright, reassuring smile. Dean holds out his fist over the table, and Richard meets it with his own, chuckling a little as Dean makes a fake explosion with his hand, complete with a fake explosion noise. Richard can’t help the smile on his face, believing that, somehow, everything will be okay.

**III.**

Re-writes aren’t new anymore to Dean and Richard, especially not after having worked on a Peter Jackson movie, where re-writes could come as early as a week before, or as late as the morning before the scene is to be shot. So when they both leave the set that day with re-writes for their first romantic scene to be shot in two days, they’re the only ones not really panicking.

Still, Richard is tense. He had spent the time leading up to the day trying to convince himself to “find the truth,” as Dean had advised him, but had been having difficulty wrapping his head around the image of himself kissing another man.

The thought of him kissing _Dean_ , however, is much easier to accept. He’s warm, intelligent, friendly and thoughtful, and he’s definitely enjoyed falling in love with him.

Or…pretending to.

Richard keeps forgetting to include that phrase. “Pretending to fall in love with Dean.” Well, Dean’s _character_. There’s hardly any difference anyway, because it seems like the role had been tailor-made for Dean that it’s sometimes hard to tell when he’s still acting in the scene. Or maybe Dean is just trying to ease him into the whole thing by giving Richard someone familiar, or easier to connect to. Either way, Richard finds that saying “falling in love with Dean” is a lot easier to say than “pretending to fall in love with Dean’s character.”

He knocks on Dean’s hotel room door, and within seconds Dean is standing in the open doorway, grinning in that way that’s so innately _Dean_. “Hey, you came,” Dean greets warmly, stepping aside to let Richard through, “Thought you might be too tired or something.”

“I’m fine,” Richard replies, “I needed this anyway. It’ll be easier on the day, I think.”

“I think so too,” Dean says, closing the door behind Richard.

Over dinner, they talk about the changes to the scene, discussing how best to play it, and how their characters should interact. Dean talks about his character’s emotions and thought processes so intimately and so truthfully that Richard can’t help but listen and let him keep talking. Dean is mesmerizing like this. It’s clear to him that Dean loves this character. Dean is mesmerizing like this. It’s more than just an acting job to him, it’s an art form. Reality over realism.

“How are you feeling about the end of the scene?” Dean asks Richard, bringing him out of his reverie.

“Fine,” Richard says with a small nod, “I think.”

“Are you sure?” Dean replies, “Coz we can talk about it, if you want to.”

Richard laughs a little. “ I think that might make it a little worse,” he answers, “It’s like you said, it’s easier to not think about it, and just let it flow. It can’t really be that big of a deal, can it?”

Dean cocks his head a bit to one side, regarding him with slightly squinted eyes. Richard finds he can’t look him in the eye while he’s doing that, so he settles for Dean’s mouth, until he realizes the irony of training his gaze on the exact thing they were just talking about.

Dean gets up from his chair, and tells Richard to do the same. When Richard looks askance at him, he repeats the urge again. “Trust me,” Dean adds.

Richard does. He stands up, and lets Dean move him until they’re standing in front of each other. “Close your eyes,” Dean tells him.

“Why?” Richard asks, but chuckles. 

“Just do it,” he says simply, “Close your eyes, Richard.”

Shrugging compliance, Richard closes his eyes. Richard gradually becomes very conscious of the silence of the room, of the closeness between the two of them, of the intimacy of the moment. He feels Dean take his wrist, and place his hand over his chest. Dean’s hand finds Richard’s own chest.

“You feel that?” Dean says softly, “That’s my heartbeat. I can feel yours too. That’s what matters, because that’s what’s _real_. And so is this.”

Dean’s lips meet Richard’s softly, only slightly uncertain. When Dean’s lips slide along Richard’s gently, sweetly, Richard kisses him back, finding it almost too easy to lose himself in the moment. Dean’s hand moves slowly up Richard’s chest until it’s clutching at the back of his neck, and Richard feels and hears him sigh as the kiss deepens. Richard holds Dean closer, pressed so deeply together that it would not surprise him if they melded into each other at that point. He has never been kissed like this before by anyone. His mind and his pulse are racing, but at the same time he feels blissfully numb and light. That, he thinks, accounts for how Dean manages to maneuver them both until he has pinned himself between Richard and the wall. The kiss intensifies, consuming Richard’s thoughts and coherency. But when Dean tugs at Richard’s shirt, his palm finding contact with Richard’s muscled torso, Richard wrenches himself away from the kiss, regretting the action almost immediately.

“I can’t…” Richard breathes, “Dean, I don’t…”

Dean’s shoulders drop, and it seems to Richard like he’s fighting to keep disappointment from showing on his face. “No, of course you don’t,” Dean says, letting go of him, “That’s…That’s kind of the whole point of you being here tonight, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s not _that_ ,” Richard reassures him, “I just…Something’s happening right now, and I don’t quite understand it just yet. I think…I may need _time_.”

“….Oh,” Dean replies quietly, “Time. Yeah, of course. That was silly and presumptive of me. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to —”

“Don’t be sorry,” Richard answers, giving him a tiny grin, “Please.  I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like it. It was…easy. Easier than I thought it would be.”

Dean’s expression changes, but Richard can’t quite explain it. “All the same,” Dean says, “I should probably let you go home now, before this gets awkward.”

“Yeah,” is all Richard can think to say. Neither of them moves for what feels like an eternity but was only really a couple of seconds. In that small space of time, Richard seriously considers kissing Dean again, just to get that feeling of warmth and lightness back, but then Dean is moving away to the table to clear it away.

“I’ll see you in the morning then?” Richard offers, trying to dissipate the tension in the air between the two of them.

Dean looks up at him, and gives him a warm smile. “Sure,” he answers, “See you in the morning.”

Richard leaves, and as the door clicks behind him, he thinks he might have just figured himself out.

**IV.**

It had not been an easy day for either of them.

The morning had gone on just fine, but after lunch, they had to shoot their characters’ first bedroom scene. They both knew all too well that there was nothing glamorous, sexy or particularly romantic about simulating such an intimate act in front of at least 10 other people, one or two of which are directing the moment, telling them when to start and when to stop, and when to start again. They’d had a few laughs together in between takes, that’s for sure, but the technical aspect of it had made things pretty damn awkward.

No, they hadn’t spoken about that night in Dean’s hotel room either. It had happened over two weeks ago, and between then and today, they’d already kissed a few times for the cameras. But not once – not _once_ – has Dean brought it up again. As a matter of fact, he acts like it didn’t happen at all. Richard can’t understand how Dean manages to do that, not when it weighs on his mind every single time they shoot a kiss. With each kiss, Richard remembers how soft Dean’s lips had been that night, how familiar it had felt, how perfectly Dean’s body fit into his, how warm and pliable he had been, especially when they were against the wall. None of their onscreen kisses have felt as intimate and as _real_ as that moment, and Richard found himself trying to get that feeling back, but unable to explain why it just wasn’t happening in front of the cameras.

Today though…Today continues to be hell on his brain.

Richard’s trying to get some sleep now, but all he can think about is Dean. They had been naked in bed together all afternoon, with modesty patches covering their cocks in case the sheets slipped off. Richard hadn’t thought that he would be worrying about anything showing until they started shooting. Dean had started to move underneath him, looking him right in the eye, moaning and groaning with unabashed need. He had clawed and clutched at Richard, his legs locked tight around him as their skin rubbed together. When they had taken a shot over Richard’s shoulder of Dean moving down his body to go down on him, Dean had looked up at him with such seemingly real lust in his eyes that when Dean’s lips touched his belly, there had been some degree of truth in the moan that Richard had let out, and it had taken every bit of Richard’s strength to keep himself in control. Dean had found it easy to crack jokes after the director called cut on every take, but Richard’s thoughts had been all over the place. 

He had been relieved to finally be wrapped for the day, and had locked himself in his hotel room since arriving there. A cold shower had not helped at all, and now he’s lying in bed, eyes closed tight as he begs sleep to come and take him, but to no use. With the memory of Dean and Dean’s body and Dean’s voice and Dean’s kisses fresh in his mind, his hand moves slow and tight on his erection, and the better it gets, the more he’s whispering Dean’s name into the cold air around him. But it’s when he brings up the memories of their very first kiss, in Dean’s hotel room, that it starts to get really good. He tightens his grip, and quickens his wanking, and when he comes with a hard growl, it’s to the memory of Dean breathing out his name desperately, even though he can’t remember when that happened.

By the time his orgasm has died down, and he feels sleep starting to creep up on him, Richard has finally found his reality.

**V.**

Dean can’t keep the surprise off his face when he opens his door to find Richard standing there, a divine smile on his face.

“Hello,” he says brightly.

“Hello,” Richard greets back. Then without another word, he bends and kisses Dean deeply, and all Dean can do is let him. They make it past the threshold, one of them managing to actually shut the door, before Dean’s back collides with the wall, his front pressed into Richard’s, for the second time in a month. Richard kisses him hotly, hands roaming Dean’s body until he’s pulling his hips towards his, pressing a knee between Dean’s legs.

“Oh God,” Dean breathes against Richard’s mouth, “Richard, what’s happening?”

“Don’t ask me yet,” Richard says breathlessly, “I don’t want to think just yet.”

“Good idea,” Dean replies, pulling him down for another kiss, just as needy as the first. His hand moves down until he’s cupping the hardening bulge in Richard’s pants, and he can’t help but smile a little when Richard gasps.

“Is that for me?” Dean asks, amused.

“Only if you want me to be,” Richard tells him sincerely, looking him in the eye.

Dean chuckles. “You oblivious little shit,” he laughs, “I’ve wanted you longer than I can say.”

“That’s real, is it?” Richard asks him.

Dean just smiles, taking Richard’s hand and placing it above his heart. “I can’t even tell you how real it is,” he promises.

“Show me, then,” Richard tells him, “Show me how real it is.”

Before the night is over, neither of them are left in any doubt.

**_~ END. ~_ **


	7. AIDEAN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: can I prompt you? I will because I love your fics and I can't resist lol; how about one one of the boys (Aidan OR Dean) finding out the other's been cheating? with Richard maybe? <3

He should have known. He should have seen the signs. They were all there. He’d listed them to him already before, had warned him. Okay fine, maybe at the time, he hadn’t listened, mainly because he didn’t want to and was convinced he’d never need to know. What a happy delusion that had been.

He should have known.

Aidan squints at the painting, cocking his head to one side, and then the other, but no matter what he does, he can’t un-see the resemblance. It’s like Dean didn’t even try to hide it. It’s like Dean didn’t even  _care_  that Aidan would see it. It’s there,  _right there_ , for the world to see, because Dean, that asshole, he must’ve been so proud of his good work that he wanted to show it off right away to the first person that comes over. Too bad that person turned out to be Aidan.

 

But no, it  _shouldn’t_  be too bad that Aidan would be the first to pass by Dean’s place. Why should any of this be  _Aidan_ ’s fault? It shouldn’t. Fact of the matter is, Dean painted it, and now Aidan is seeing it.  _Him_. Dean painted  _him_.

It sounds strange and unfamiliar in Aidan’s head, and he grimaces as if it’s leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He’s almost thankful to hear the door open, because it wrenches his attention away from the painting. Unfortunately, the next target of his gaze isn’t exactly making him feel any better.

Dean smiles divinely at him, dimples deep, eyes shining. “Nice of you to drop by,” he says, and Aidan does his best to return his cheery demeanor, “You’re just in time for lunch.”

“Sounds great,” Aidan manages in an even tone as Dean comes around and sees what Aidan was looking at.

This, Aidan figures, is probably the point when the air thickens around them, Dean’s smile falls and he starts sputtering apologies that Aidan may or may not be ready to accept.

Aidan turns out to be dead wrong.

Dean’s smile widens, and the way he shoves his hands in his pockets and looks almost adoringly at his own painting tells Aidan that he doesn’t know that Aidan has figured it out.

“What do you think?” Dean asks him, “I think I’ll call it  _Repose_. I’m not all that happy with the brush strokes, but that’s easy to manage. I’m pretty happy about it.”

Aidan swallows hard. He’s not sure how much longer he can keep up this farce.

“Looks good,” he confirms, because it does. It looks good. As a matter of fact, it looks  _great_. _Majestic_ , even.

Aidan would love nothing more than to shoot himself square between the eyes right now for even letting himself think that. He settles instead for letting Dean hold him and bury his face in his back, sighing.

“I’ve missed you,” Dean says, and Aidan feels him plant a tiny little kiss just between his shoulder blades.

Aidan swears the face in the painting just snorted at him. Sneered mockingly, at the very least.

He can’t take it. He’s going out of his mind. He doesn’t want to know, but he already does anyway.

“I’m sure Richard would be very happy to see what you’ve done,” Aidan mutters softly, turning his head away from the painting.

“He’s already seen it,” Dean says, “He says he likes it, but I do— _Oh_.”

And  _there_ ’s the awkward silence, the thickening air, the hovering of the ball just inches from the ground. No apologies though. Aidan’s not sure if that’s any better. He unwraps Dean’s arms from around him, and Dean lets him. Aidan turns his back on the painting, facing Dean instead. He crosses his arms and watches Dean search the ground with his eyes for something to focus on.

“Richard, huh?” Aidan asks, still managing to keep his voice low and steady. When Dean just puts his hands in his pockets and shuffles a foot in response, Aidan shakes his head, lets out an incredulous scoff and a barely audible, “Fuck.”

“I told you,” Dean says, eyes on the floor underneath his feet, “I told you it might happen.”

“You  _warned_  me it could happen,” Aidan corrects him, “Doesn’t mean you had to make it come true, Dean.”

“I didn’t  _make_  it come true,” Dean replies defensively, “It just sort of…happened.”

“I fucking bet,” Aidan hisses, “What, he was sitting with his pants down and his cock out, and you tripped and your mouth just HAPPENED to land on it?”

“Jesus, Aidan,” Dean breathes, passing a hand over his face and still not looking him in the eye.

“No, tell me, Dean,” Aidan urges, anger pooling somewhere in his chest now and tightening it ever so slowly, “How in the hell did you just  _happen_  to find your way into Richard Armitage’s pants? Were you drunk? Were you missing me and had nowhere else to turn? Come on, mate. I’ve heard them all before. PLEASE tell me you’ve got something new, at least.”

“Goddammit, Aidan,” Dean answers, and his voice is a little louder now too, “What do you want from me?”

“I want the fucking truth, you son of a bitch,” Aidan replies, “I want you to look me in the fucking eye and tell me what fucking happened while I was gone! That’s what I want from you!”

“You think that’s going to make any of this better?” Dean asks, “You think if I told you, that painting is just going to vanish or something, like it never happened?”

“You owe me the goddamn truth!” Aidan protests, “Or do you really not care about me at all? Am I really just another notch in your stupid fucking bedpost, is that it?”

“Fuck it, Aidan!” Dean shouts, and Aidan could almost laugh at how defensive Dean is, “You know I love you!”

“Not enough, apparently,” Aidan bites back, and he feels himself nearly choking up at that, “Because if you loved me enough, if  _I_  was enough, then this would never have happened.”

“You knew from the goddamn start!” Dean groans, “I told you I couldn’t be faithful, no matter how much I wanted to be!”

“But you promised you’d be  _loyal_ ,” Aidan reminds him, “You promised me that, Dean. There’s a difference.”

“He was just a fuck,” Dean answers, but it’s clear that Aidan has struck him pretty hard, “I’ve shown more affection in a handshake.”

Aidan finds himself laughing humorlessly. “Somehow I don’t think that’s true,” he tells Dean, shaking his head, “You’ve been enamoured with him from the moment you met him. I’ve seen the way you look at him. You may not know it, but you stare at him a lot. And he stares back, you know, you just don’t fucking see it. I see it all because I’m sat in the middle of the two of you, and you just fucking stand there and pretend that you don’t know that it hurts me. Because you know, Dean, I know you do. You know that I’ve suspected for a long time, but because  _you warned me_ , you didn’t think it would matter. Well it DOES, Dean O’Gorman, it fucking matters to me, because this is  _my_  heart we’re talking about, and not yours because apparently, to you,  _it was just a fuck_.”

He turns away and leans on a table, not sure how much longer he can hold the tears back. Dean isn’t saying a word, just shuffling his feet again and kicking at dust on the floor.

“I gave up a lot for you,” Aidan continues, “I changed so much, for  _you_. And this is what I get in return?”

No answer. Aidan plows on.

“How long?” he asks Dean, although he’s not sure that he really wants to know, “How long have you been cheating with him behind my back?”

Dean scratches at his head as he sits himself down on a stool. “It started about two months before principal shooting ended,” Dean tells him, “I didn’t plan for it to happen or anything. I got caught up in him. I can’t explain it. I started to paint him the morning after we first —”

“Don’t,” Aidan cuts through, “I don’t…I don’t wanna think about that, I don’t wanna  _know_ about that. But tell me this, Dean. At any point while you were… _with_  him, did you, at least ONCE, spare me a thought?”

“Of course,” Dean says, and Aidan wants to believe him, “Of course I did. Several times, I tried to get up the courage to tell you, and to tell Richard that it couldn’t last, but…I just…”

“Do you love him?”

Dean stares up at Aidan, and it’s the first time he’s looked at him since the fight started. Aidan is slightly taken aback as well. He hadn’t meant to ask it, had only been wondering.

“Aidan…” Dean trails off.

“It’s a simple yes-or-no question, Deano,” Aidan says, “Do you love him?”

Dean sighs. “You still want the truth?” he asks.

“I don’t suppose you could hurt me more than you already have, to be honest,” Aidan replies in a monotone, “Do you love him?”

The answer seems to take forever.

“…I don’t know.”

Aidan nods slowly, eyes trained in the space between the floor and Dean’s knee. He rubs at his mouth as if in thought, but in truth, his mind has gone numb, his body cold.

“Say something,” Dean pleads softly, “Anything. Even if it’s to call me names or tell me you hate me or something. Just…anything. Aidan, please.”

Aidan’s gaze lifts itself to meet Dean’s, and it finds regret on Dean’s face. If this were any other person, Aidan would be feeling pretty triumphant right about now, but all he feels is a big, empty pit in his stomach.

“Dean, I’ve had a lot of injuries while I’ve been here in New Zealand,” Aidan says, “I’ve had a few accidents. Falling in love with you was one of them. And you know what? That one, by far, is the worst.”

“Aidz…” Dean begins to say, but Aidan turns away before he can get past that. He knows how easily he’d forgive him if Dean said the right words, but he doesn’t want to forgive him. He’s not sure he ever will. He picks up the bag he had put on the floor when he had first noticed the painting, and turns to Dean one more time.

“It’s a good painting,” he says truthfully, “It’s really good. You’re an incredibly talented artist, Dean O’Gorman, and a damn good actor. Good enough to fool me, anyway. But then you and I both know that that doesn’t exactly take a lot of effort, now does it?”

Something passes in front of Dean’s face, but the moment is fleeting. Aidan gives him a tiny, mirthless smile. “I’ll see you at work, mate,” he says, and turns on his heel to leave. He closes the door behind him, glad for the opportunity to finally wipe his eyes. On his way out, he digs out his keys, pulls out the one to the front door, and leaves it on the kitchen table.

At the doorway, he takes one last look at the house –  _Dean’s_  house now, when only minutes ago it had been  _their_  house as much as his own house had been – sighs heavily, and locks the door from the inside before closing it and walking back to his own.

**_~ END. ~_ **

_Although I would love to write a second part JUST to see them back together omg._


	8. BRITCHELL/MITCHERS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: I want a really protective Mitchell over Anders. Maybe some vamps are threatening him or just a bunch of assholes I don't really care that much. Just really protective Mitchell!

_Anders Johnson, you’re a bloody idiot._

Anders gives himself a rough shake. He knows he’s not a good drunk – a fun one, but not a good one - but sometimes – most times – he can’t help himself. The only thing he enjoys more than a hot, willing chick with a tight cunt is an ice cold beer, or a way-too-expensive wine that doesn’t always taste like it’s worth every cent he pays for it. If he can manage to get a few good drinks and get a woman in his bed in the same night, then he’s made. Tonight, unfortunately, he’s going home alone and inebriated.

_Not good. Not good at all._

Something tells him he should probably call for a cab, but then who’s to say he won’t pass out in it? A quick call to Dawn to pick him up, maybe? Nah, she’d just hate him for it in the morning, and he’s got a lot of important stuff for her to deal with the next day (mainly because he’s going to be too hung over to deal with them himself). Walking it is then. It’s not like his place is that far anyway, he did manage to walk to the pub, after all.

 

Not 5 minutes after leaving the bar, and he’s already feeling weird. He can’t help but think someone’s following him. He turns his collar up in a vain attempt to ward off that prickling feeling of someone watching him, then shoves his hands in his pockets, willing himself to move faster. The streets are unnaturally clear, but still, Anders can feel the paranoia.

And then there are footsteps behind him. Then snickering. And then –

“Hello, handsome.”

Anders stops dead in his (admittedly wonky) tracks. The female voice had sounded as if it was  _right there_ , as if whoever had spoken to him was standing or sitting right beside him. Anders turns on his heel, only to find no one behind him. He squints at the dim light provided by the streetlamps, but to no avail. Thoroughly creeped out now, Anders turns back around to keep walking home…

…Only to walk right into a hard, human body in his way, much taller than him, much bigger than him.

“Spare some change, mate?” says the stranger, sneering menacingly.

“All out, bro,” Anders replies, “Sorry.”

“Damn nice jacket you’ve got on though,” snorts another newcomer, arriving seemingly from out of nowhere and picking at Anders’ new hoodie, “Cough up the cash, rich boy.”

“Haven’t got any,” Anders answers, trying to bat him off, “Why’d you think I’m walking?”

“It’s true, Nick,” confirms the female voice from earlier, and Anders turns to see an attractive blond, pale even in the dark, circling them with a not-so-friendly smirk on her pretty face, “He spent the last two hours in the pub.”

“Have you been following me?” Anders asks her, turning on the charm, hoping he can Bragi-talk his way out of this, “Coz I wouldn’t be opposed to it, if you were. Them, maybe, but you, I wouldn’t kick out of my bed, if you know what I mean.”

The woman just cackles. “She’s spoken for, pretty boy,” growls the guy called Nick, “And just for that, I’ll have that jacket, since you’ve got no money.”

“What the fuck d’you want it for?” Anders protests, worried that his powers didn’t work, “You don’t look like you need the money anyway, I mean, look at you?”

The trio laugh, and a chill runs down Anders’ spine. It’s definitely not a good sound. He opens his mouth to say something, he’s not entirely sure what, but before a letter can even form in his brain, he finds himself up against a wall, feet dangling at least half a foot from the floor, a hand wrapped tightly around his neck.

“We weren’t asking, little man,” the woman hisses, her eyes turning blacker than the night sky (although Anders isn’t entirely sure his seeing it for real), “We said we’d have it, whether you give it to us or not.”

Nick, who is choking Anders against the wall, and the other guy both hiss at him, their eyes darkening as well. They bare fangs, and so does the woman.

“Who the fuck are you?!” Anders sputters, clawing vainly at the hand gripped so tight around his neck he thinks it’s about to snap him in two.

“The last thing you’ll ever see,” Nick laughs. But just as he closes in on Anders’ throat, something rams into him, tearing him away from Anders, who slinks down the wall, clutching at his neck and coughing for air. There’s a blur – literally a blur – of quick, furious movement, and the sounds of his three attackers howling in pain or anger, he’s not sure which. The woman lunges at him, but before Anders can even think about flinching, she’s dragged away, thrown hard and far so that she hits the tree across the street.

“You okay?” asks a familiar voice, one that Anders has never been happier to hear.

“I am now,” Anders answers as Mitchell helps him up to his feet.

“Stay behind me,” Mitchell instructs, and Anders nods in agreement, although he really had no intention of doing much else now that Mitchell’s here.

“You!” hollers Nick, “You’re supposed to be dead!”

“I am though,” Mitchell replies darkly, “In a manner or two. So you’re not wrong. You are, however, about to get your ass kicked five ways to Sunday if you don’t clear out.”

No one moves a muscle. There’s a sharp stick of wood in one of Mitchell’s hands, and Anders sees him adjust his grip on it a little.

“ _Now_ ,” Mitchell adds threateningly.

It’s the female that sees sense first. She takes Nick by the wrist and starts to draw him away. The other follows, calling that they’ll be back to get them both.

“Looking forward to it!” Mitchell shouts back, watching them leave. It’s only when they’re out of sight that Mitchell drops the piece of sharpened wood.

“You all right?” Mitchell asks Anders again, turning to face him now.

“Yeah,” Anders answers, giving him a tiny smile.

“Good,” Mitchell replies, before unceremoniously whacking Anders upside the back of his head with an open palm, “Fucking idiot!”

“OW!” Anders wails, “The hell was  _that_  for?!”

“Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been?!” Mitchell admonishes, “You didn’t come home after work, so I called Dawn, but she said you didn’t tell her where you were going. I knew you’d be out drinking, but then Ty called and asked if you were home, and I knew you were going to get yourself fucked up, and just…”

Mitchell seems to have run out of words, so he just smacks the back of Anders’ head again.

“OW! Twice?!” Anders protests.

“Yes, twice, you bloody git!” Mitchell confirms angrily, “If that doesn’t teach you not to scare the living crap out of me like that again, I don’t know what will!”

“I’m not a fucking child, Mitch,” Anders sulks, “And you’re not my fucking mother.”

“Thank God for that,” Mitchell shoots back, “If I were, I’d probably have shot you a long time ago. How the hell did your mother even cope with you?”

“She didn’t,” Anders answers, “She ran off to the forest and turned herself into a tree. Twice.”

Mitchell looks at him, insanely confused. Anders shrugs, signaling that it’s the truth, weird as it may sound, but Mitchell has lived with him this long, has known his family this long, to know that that might not even be their biggest problem. Mitchell shakes his head and chuckles a little, pulling Anders into a hug.

“Just don’t fucking do that to me again, y’hear?” he says, “I was beside myself worrying about you.”

Under normal circumstances, Anders would be taking the mickey out of Mitchell for mother hen-ning all over the place, but right now, considering he’s just saved his life, Anders is actually rather touched. It might just be the alcohol talking, but hey, there aren’t a lot of people who would be this worried about him being out late.

“I’m sorry,” Anders tells him, and he means it, “Next time, I’ll call you.”

“You do that,” Mitchell says into his hair, “And you do it  _before_  you even start drinking. I like getting pissed too, you know.”

Mitchell lets him out of the embrace and they start walking back together, his arm still around Anders’ shoulder. “I bet you do,” Anders laughs, “Hey…thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Mitchell stops, causing Anders to do the same. “Whoa,” he says in surprise.

“…What?” Anders asks, confused, “What is it?”

“Did that just happen?” Mitchell inquires, “Or doth mine ears deceive me?”

“What the fuck are you talking about, Drag-ula?” Anders says.

“Did you, Anders Johnson,” Mitchell says slowly, eyes wide as he stares as if in shock at Anders, “god of dickheads, just say…’ _thank you_ ’ to me?!”

Anders breathes a sigh of relief, and then punches Mitchell in the arm. “You egg,” he says.

“No, I’m serious!” Mitchell continues in mock surprise, “This is mindblowing! Alert the presses! Anders Johnson is being  _nice to somebody!_ ”

“Yeah, yeah, eat it up, old timer,” Anders says, “It might never happen again. Milk this for all it’s worth, go ahead.”

“I’m in shock!” Mitchell teases, walking backwards just to watch Anders’ reactions, “I’m AFRAID! I think the world’s about to end!”

“I’m going to end  _you_  if you don’t fuck off,” Anders threatens, but he’s smiling too. It’s not like this is unfounded anyway.

Mitchell laughs, really laughs, and Anders can’t help but grin at that. Mitchell grabs him and kisses him deep, but before Anders can respond, he pulls away, laughing again.

“You stole that one,” Anders complains.

“Come and get it back then,” Mitchell offers, turning around and jogging away.

“Come back here, fucker!” Anders calls after him, “You know I can’t run when I’m drunk!”

The only reply Anders gets is Mitchell’s hearty chuckle filling the night air.

**_~ END. ~_ **


	9. AIDEAN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: Aidean, definitely Aidean. Just a sugarsweet love confession, or where they slowly fall in love, because yeah, I need some pure fluffiness :D

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“What you’re doing.”

“What am I doing?”

“Staring.”

“I’m not staring.”

“You are. You’re staring at me. Quit that. You’re making me feel insecure, like I’ve got something on my face or whatever.”

Dean chuckles to himself, picking at his morning toast with his fork as he casts his gaze away from Aidan. “Can’t help it sometimes,” he confesses.

“Yeah yeah,” Aidan replies dismissively, stretching out the newspaper he was reading before he noticed Dean trying to bore a hole in him with his eyes, “You always say that.”

“Coz it’s always true,” Dean says, “It hasn’t stopped being true, and I think it always will be true. I wouldn’t lie to you, Aidz.”

The way Aidan ruffles the papers, holding them a little higher, and clears his throat tells Dean he’s blushing. “Would you shut up and eat your toast already?” Aidan says with an air of trying to distract Dean, “It’s gonna get cold, and we have to be at the studio in about an hour.”

“I can think of a couple of other things we could get done in an hour,” Dean chuckles into his coffee, earning himself a swift kick under the table.

“Behave, little man,” Aidan warns him, but it’s obvious to Dean that he’s fighting down a grin.

“The whole point was to do exactly the opposite of what you just told me to do,” Dean points out, “Or was I not being clear enough?”

Before Aidan can make some sassy remark about how Dean couldn’t be clearer than a newly cleaned glass window, Dean’s hand scuttles across his lap and plants itself firmly between Aidan’s legs. Aidan gasps, jumping a little, knocking his knee on one of the table supports underneath.

“Dammit, Dean!” Aidan swears soundly, “A little warning next time!”

“You  _were_ warned,” Dean breathes against Aidan’s neck, “I’m an artist, I don’t do the direct approach.”

“Your hand on my cock says otherwise, bastard,” Aidan replies, whimpering a bit when Dean’s lips and tongue make gentle contact with his skin, his hand moving slow but determined under the table, “Smug, sneaky, greedy little bastard.”

“Get in my bed and I’ll show  _you_  who’s little,” Dean says with a smirk, nipping at Aidan’s shoulder, “And before you even think about saying anything, stop talking. Stop talking now.”

“Make me,” Aidan tells him.

“Is that a challenge or an invitation?” Dean inquires.

Aidan grins at him. “What do  _you_  think?” he asks in reply.

Dean answers him with a hot, hungry kiss, managing somehow to maneuver them both from the dining area to his room, clothes coming off and being forgotten in piles on the floor.

— + — + — + —

“You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“You know what.”

Aidan watches Dean through the bathroom mirror as Dean, in the bedroom and wearing only his undone jeans, smiles softly. Aidan buttons his plaid shirt, vaguely wondering if there’s any point in trying to make his hair look fairly presentable.

“What can I say?” Dean says with a shrug, “I like the view.”

Aidan laughs a little, shaking his head. “Will you take some wine to go with all that _cheese_?” he teases.

“You know I’d take you for everything that you are,” Dean answers, “Even when you get whiny.”

“I wasn’t talking about me, idiot,” Aidan replies, commencing a fight with his hair using Dean’s comb as his weapon.

“I like talking about you,” Dean tells him honestly as Aidan re-enters the room, “It makes me happy.”

Aidan slackens, cocking his head a little to the side and regarding Dean with the utmost curiosity. “What’s gotten into you, Deano?” he ponders.

The smile that creeps across Dean’s face is sly. “How recent are we talking about here?” he asks, ducking as Aidan chucks his comb at him.

“You know what I mean,” Aidan says with a small sigh as he crosses over to where Dean is, placing himself on the floor in front of him, chin on Dean’s knees, “You’ve changed.”

“I know I have,” Dean concurs, “For the better, I hope?”

“Definitely for the better,” Aidan nods, “But it’s too big a change not to notice.”

“I’m happier, I think,” Dean says as Aidan draws feather-light circles around his knee with a finger, “More content, maybe. Like I have more things to smile about these days, more reason to look forward to waking up the next day, and the next, and the next. It’s been a long time since I last felt like this, and even then, it didn’t feel this good.”

“What didn’t feel this good before?” Aidan asks, planting a sweet, chaste kiss on Dean’s thigh.

Dean shrugs. “Being in love,” he replies, earning himself an adorable smile from Aidan.

“So you’re in love with me?” inquires Aidan, and he looks so much like a kitten that Dean can’t help but stroke his hair, half-expecting him to start purring.

“Well, let’s see,” Dean says, “The simplest thought of you causes me to smile like an idiot. I look forward to seeing you when I wake up in the morning, and saying goodnight to you in the evening. And when I don’t get to see you, my day feels so incomplete, it’s like I didn’t even try to  _live_  that day. Every day that passes is another day that I get to spend with you, but at the same time it’s another day closer to the end of filming, which means you’re going back to wherever it is you leprechauns are made, and I’m going to be left here, wishing for a much simpler life where we could just be  _us_. I find myself dreading that day, dreading goodbye, because I don’t know if I’ll see you again after that, or if it’ll be the same if I do. So I just try to enjoy every hour that I can get with you, in any way that I can, which is why I stare at you a  _lot_. I’m pretty sure if I stare at you enough times, you’re going to just be so stuck in my mind’s eye that I’ll be able to see you even when my eyes are closed. Does that sound like I’m in love with you?”

“I think it does,” Aidan chuckles sweetly.

“Good,” replies Dean, “Coz that’s not even the half of it, but if I keep going, we’ll never get out of here.”

Grinning, Aidan draws his lower lip between his teeth. “I really need to kiss you right now,” he tells Dean.

“Don’t keep me waiting then,” Dean suggests. They lean into each other at the same time, their lips meeting in a kiss so soft and sweet, it puts sugar to shame. The kiss is deep, full of everything else Dean wanted to say but couldn’t find enough words to, and everything that Aidan wants him to know but isn’t sure he knows how to say. They take their time, losing themselves in each other, hardly caring that anything else around them or in the universe exists. Dean’ places a palm over Aidan’s chest, can feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, knowing that’s for him as much as his is for Aidan, and that’s what makes them complete. That’s what makes them  _them_. When they finally pull away, there’s a ridiculously content smile on Dean’s lips, Aidan’s forehead pressed to his as Aidan sighs sweetly.

“I love you,” Aidan tells Dean.

And it’s more than enough.

**~ END. ~**


	10. AIDEAN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: Dean is in love with Aidan, who has a girlfriend. When Aidan and her break up, because she cheated on him, Dean comforts Aidan and Aidan slowly realizes, that he could have more than friendship-feelings for Dean, but doesn't know, that Dean has been in love with him the whole time anyway.

“You do know that if you do that too long, you’ll go blind, right?” James remarks as he joins Dean, who is leaning against the island counter in the kitchen.

“Something’s wrong,” Dean tells him, not taking his eyes off of Aidan, who has isolated himself outside, staring up at the stars and the moon from Dean’s porch.

“That’s my philosophy in life, mate,” James answers, “Be more specific, could you?”

“With Aidan,” Dean says, “Something’s up. Haven’t you noticed?”

“Deano, you are literally the only person who stares long enough at Aidan to notice right away when something is wrong,” James informs him.

“I do not stare!” Dean protests, but James raises his eyebrows at him, so he reluctantly adds, “…all the time. Anyway, that’s not the point. The point is that Aidan is clearly not in a good mood.”

“And I bet you’re just the person to help him out with that, aren’t ya?” James asks, half-teasing, half-disinterestedly.

“Do I detect a hint of mockery in your tone, sir?” Dean asks, squinting at James.

“You’re way off if you’re detecting but a  _hint_ , lad,” James laughs.

“Sod off then,” Dean says, taking another beer out from the fridge, “you’re no help.”

“Remember to use protection, kids,” James remarks, earning himself the finger from Dean as he heads out to Aidan.

“Hey,” Dean calls out to Aidan, who turns and gives him a brief, albeit seemingly forced, smile in greeting, “Why aren’t you inside with everybody else?”

“A bit crowded in there, mate,” Aidan replies with a tiny shrug, “Needed some air.”

“I hear that,” Dean answers, offering Aidan the unopened beer in his hand. Aidan takes it with a small mutter of gratitude, pops it open and takes a swig. Dean has to convince himself not to watch the way Aidan’s throat flexes, or his lips wrap around the mouth of the can. He turns his attentions instead to the stars, and a familiar silence falls between the two of them. Dean knows better than to press Aidan. If Aidan deems him worthy enough to know about his problems, then he’ll tell him. They’ve done this before, from both ends. It’s the way they work.

“She left me,” Aidan tells him after a while, “Millie. She’s gone.”

“I’m sorry,” Dean answers sincerely as Aidan sips from his beer again, shoving his other hand into his pocket.

“Apparently she’d been seeing another bloke even before I got here to NZ,” Aidan continues, “I had my suspicions, but I didn’t wanna hear about it. I didn’t wanna think about it.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Dean says, “You loved her.”

“Not enough, I guess,” Aidan replies, “Listen, can we go for a walk or something? You can tell me about how we never deserved each other anyway, and what a bitch she is, and all that, and I’ll pretend to agree when really I’m dying inside.”

He gives him that trademark Aidan smirk, but it’s a mask. Aidan isn’t one to wear his heart on his sleeve, and it’s only a precious few that he really trusts with his feelings. Dean has never felt more privileged to be one of those people than in this moment, strangely enough.

“Sure thing,” Dean says, leading the way out of the porch and out onto the back roads, “But you know that’s totally not what I’m going to tell you.”

“What will you tell me then?” Aidan asks Dean as they walk down the street side by side at a steady pace.

“That she made a mistake,” Dean replies, “That she probably really did love you. That what you don’t deserve is pain and heartache. That you are a wonderful human being who deserves to be loved the way you love people, because if someone loved me half as much as you loved her, I’d probably the luckiest man in the world.”

Aidan chuckles a little, smiling a little brighter. They reach a small bridge over a stream, a place Aidan had discovered just weeks into arriving at New Zealand. Dean knows Aidan comes here to think, to be at peace, and to be happy with his lot. Right now, he’s here with a cold beer in his hand, and his good friend Dean at his side.

“Do you think I love too much, Deano?” Aidan asks him, “Or maybe too hard?”

Dean thinks about it for a while. “There are a lot of people who are perfectly capable of something like that,” he says, “I don’t think you’re one of them.” He realizes a simple “no” would have sufficed, but he’s not exactly known for being concise.

“Then why does it hurt this bad, Dean?” Aidan asks, “Why do I feel like I just wanna lay in bed and not move for about a century, just stay indoors and keep to myself, because if I open myself up to someone else, the wound will never heal?”

 _Oh dammit_. That’s not something Dean wants to hear, not when it means his chances have just been whittled down to less than nothing.

“You just need time, that’s all,” Dean replies, putting a hand on Aidan’s shoulder in what he hopes is a reassuring move, “Love isn’t meant to be rushed, nor rushed into. Love isn’t perfect, it needs work and patience. That’s what makes it all worth it in the end, I think.”

Aidan is smiling again, and Dean takes this as a good sign. He breathes a little deeper to remind himself to go slow; Aidan is vulnerable, not desperate and stupid.

“Besides,” Dean presses on, “you shouldn’t lock yourself behind closed doors. It wouldn’t be fair.”

“Oh no?” Aidan asks, bemused, “Why not?”

It’s Dean’s turn to smile, because he has the perfect response. “ _Tis beauty truly blent,_ ” he quotes, “ _whose red and white Nature’s own sweet and cunning hand laid on: Lady, you are the cruelest she alive if you will lead these graces to the grave and leave the world no copy._ ”

Aidan full-on laughs this time, and the night seems just a little brighter to Dean.

“Did you just use Shakespeare to call me a beautiful lady?” Aidan asks, and Dean shrugs.

“If the shoe fits,” he teases, and Aidan snorts, “ _Twelfth Night_. It’s one of my favorites. And it fits. It definitely fits.”

“The shoe?” Aidan inquires with a chuckle.

“You,” Dean tells him honestly, looking away, “Look, you can’t let this keep you down. You’ve had worse. This isn’t the first time, and this won’t be the last. Besides, what if there’s…I don’t know, someone out there who…you know…”

Dean traces patterns on the wood of the rail as Aidan regards him quietly. “No, I don’t know, Dean,” Aidan says, “Tell me.”

“Better not,” Dean replies, kicking himself in the head, “You need time.”

“But what did you mean?” Aidan presses, “What did you mean ‘someone out there?’”

Dean taps his fingers on the wood. “Nothing much,” he says quietly, “Just thought…you know…You’re a much better person than you think are, Aidz, and there are people out there…there’s someone who might just…care about you. Care  _for_  you. You know? Someone who may not have spent a lot of time with you, but just enough to know that you’re pretty much the only thing they need to feel… _complete_. Someone who needs to just be beside you to feel like the day has been worth it.”

Dean can feel Aidan watching him, and he’s thankful that it’s dark enough that Aidan can’t see him blush. He hopes.

“Really now?” Aidan asks, “And how does this ‘someone’ care about me?”

Dean says the first thing that pops into his mind. “ _With adorations, fertile tears, with groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire._ ” It’s overly dramatic, but he doesn’t think he’s got enough words in his vocabulary anyway.

“Beautiful,” Aidan remarks, “Very romantic. Is it all true?”

Dean smiles to himself just a little. “Every word,” he answers honestly.

The silence that settles between them now is tense, but in a good way. It seems as if they’re both looking for something to say in the face of this new revelation. It’s Aidan who manages to speak first.

“Dean,” he says softly, “You’ve been a partner, a brother, a friend to me since you came on. We got along really well right away, and I was stupid enough to question why at first. But then I realized it was easy. It felt nice. You’re all my mates, for sure, but…with you, I just feel… _different._  Does that make sense?”

“More than you think it does,” Dean replies, chewing on the inside of his bottom lip.

“Good,” Aidan breathes, “Because I’m only just understanding it myself.”

“You need time,” Dean repeats for a second time, three times total now tonight, but this time, it isn’t advice but agreement.

“Will you do something for me?” Aidan asks.

“Anything,” Dean nods.

“Will you wait for me?” he requests, “Let me get over Millie, and then let’s figure things out. Together. But until then, will you wait for me?”

Aidan has turned earnest, sincere eyes to Dean, and he can’t help but touch Aidan’s cheek. Aidan makes no move to remove it or turn his face away, so Dean lets it stay there.

“As long as I have to,” he tells Aidan, and he knows that Aidan knows he means it. He lets go of Aidan’s face, putting his hands into his pockets as he tries to keep his heart from beating right out of his chest.

“Thank you,” Aidan answers with a winning smile, “I, uh…I guess I’ll go now, while I’m in a better mood.”

“Of course,” Dean agrees, stepping aside to give him space, although the bridge is more than wide enough, “I’ll see you in the morning, Aidz.”

Aidan heads back to his own house, which is just past Dean’s and Richard’s, but he’s barely off the bridge when he’s turning back around. “Hey Deano,” he calls, and Dean turns from the water to Aidan, “One more thing.”

And before Dean can react, Aidan is kissing him. It’s tentative, experimental almost, but it’s there, and  _happening_  and  **real** , and Dean responds, unable to help the sigh that escapes him. It’s over quickly, but it lingers, and Dean has forgotten how to breathe.

“What was that?” he asks Aidan.

Aidan shrugs. “A promise,” he replies, giving him a tiny wave and setting off again.

Dean watches him go until Aidan has disappeared into his own porch, and into his house through the back door. There’s a silly grin on his face that he can’t seem to get rid of. He takes as deep a breath as he possibly can, feeling his heart beat right at the surface, as if it’s right underneath his skin.

“Enough, Dean,” he says quietly to himself. And for now, it really is.

**~ END. ~**


	11. GORMITAGE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: AU - Photographer!Dean and lawyer!Richard sit together on a long haul flight. Richard is terrified of flying and Dean tries to calm him down/distract him. And they fall in love??? Sexytimes are optional! :D

Dean finds his seat, and stretches up to place his bags in the overhead compartment. He’s especially careful with the camera, placing it as far back in as he can. As he shuts the door, the person seated at the window is jolted awake.

“Sorry,” Dean offers, “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s all right,” says the other man, rubbing at his eyes, British by the sound of him, “I just…Nah, it’s fine. So you’re my seat mate then, eh?”

“That’s right,” Dean replies, taking his seat beside him and extending his hand, “Dean.”

“Richard,” the other says, shaking his hand, “From here, are you?”

“Auckland,” Dean answers as he buckles his seat belt, “You going home?”

“Yes,” Richard nods, looking out the window, “Going to be a rather long flight, I fear.”

Dean shrugs. “It should be okay,” he says, “I’ve had longer.”

“How so?” Richard asks, but the PA system comes to life then, advising everyone to get settled in and buckle their seatbelts. The flight crew starts going up and down the aisles, closing compartment doors and helping people into their seats.

Dean watches the safety video, but out of the corner of his eye catches Richard’s hand balling into a fist, and then opening again, closing and then opening. Dean fishes in his pocket for a while, then takes out a tube of Mentos, offering one to Richard.

“You look like you could use it,” Dean says, and Richard lets out a single chuckle, taking the mint from him.

“I’m not a good flier,” Richard replies, popping the candy into his mouth and letting it cool him.

“I thought not,” Dean says, “Lucky for you, my brother isn’t either, so I’m used to dealing with this kind of thing.”

“I’ll be okay,” Richard assures him, “But thank you. I’ll try to sleep through it, I usually do.”

“Okay then,” Dean tells him, “But just in case you need any help, I’ll be happy to.”

Richard gives him a small smile, takes a deep breath, and closes his eyes to sleep. The plane rumbles to life around them, above them, beneath them. He grits his teeth and cringes a little, but forces himself to blank his mind.

5 hours later, Richard is awake. The first thing he becomes conscious of is a faint light that it turns out is coming from Dean’s laptop.

“Sorry,” Dean says when he realizes his seat mate has awakened, “Did I wake you?”

“No,” Richard replies quietly, shaking his head, “I just couldn’t stay asleep is all.”

“Sorry to hear it,” Dean answers, “Drink then?”

Richard shrugs acquiescence, and Dean presses the button for the stewardess. He orders them some wine, and insists that they’re on him. Richard seems grateful, and now plied with drink seems better at ease.

“What’s that?” he asks Dean, tilting his head towards the open computer in front of Dean.

“My next gallery show, hopefully,” Dean answers, “That’s what I’m headed to London for.”

“You’re a photographer?” Richard asks as Dean switches to another picture file.

“Among other things,” Dean replies, brow furrowing slightly as he zooms in on the picture and scrutinizes it inch by inch, “The photography is my main way of life though. Pay’s pretty good, but I’m more interested in proving that art is, well, an art.”

Richard actually laughs a little. “Nicely put,” he commends, “And may I say, you are on the right way to convincing me of that last bit.”

“Yes, you may definitely say that,” Dean chuckles, “And might I offer you my gratitude for your compliment?”

“Absolutely,” Richard says with a smile, “Although there’s no need. It’s very well-deserved, by the looks of things.”

“Now that’s just flattery,” Dean shoots back, tossing back the rest of his drink, “Which, whether or not you mean it to be, is always half a lie. Which already tells me something about you.”

“Astute,  _and_  an artist,” Richard observes.

“Ah, alliteration,” Dean notices, “Gift of the gab, I see. So what is it that  _you_  do, Richard?”

“Trust me, you don’t want to know,” Richard waves off.

“Well, now that you’ve said that, I really do,” Dean says, making Richard laugh again, and it’s a rather nice, rolling, soothing sound, “So what is it then? Writer? Curator? Professor?”

“A lot duller than that,” Richard says.

“Don’t make me keep guessing then, I only go up from here, really,” snorts Dean.

“Fine then,” Richard answers, “I am employed in the, uh, excruciatingly exciting world of defense and prosecution.”

Dean regards him for a few long seconds, looking him over until Richard gives him a shrug.

“No fucking way, mate,” Dean says in disbelief, “You? A lawyer? I don’t believe it.”

“Did the three-piece suit not give me away?” Richard jokes, “The brief case, perhaps? Surely the surly, sullen demeanor must’ve given you a clue.”

“You’re making fun of me now, aren’t you?”

“Maybe.”

Dean laughs again, and so does Richard. Richard finds his gaze lingering a little on Dean’s face, lit more by mirth than the overhead lamp. But then the plane jerks a little, and Richard gasps, his fists closing tight around his armrests. He swallows hard, shaken.

“Hey,” Dean says, securing his laptop, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Richard replies weakly, “Yeah, I’m fine, I just…”

“Here,” shushes Dean, holding out his hand. Richard looks from Dean’s hand, to his face, then back to his hand, before reluctantly giving him one of his own. Dean offers him a reassuring smile, before turning his hand over so that his palm is facing up. Gently, he starts to kneed at the base of his palm, working his way to the middle and the knuckles, then moving down to his wrist, finding the pulse point. He massages gently, until his pulse returns to normal, and Richard lets out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding in.

“You’re good at that,” Richard remarks by way of thanks.

“Told you, my brother’s just like you,” Dean tells him, “Since we were kids. We flew a lot between Australia and New Zealand because of my father’s work. Never seemed to calm him down. My mom said it might’ve been her fault, but I honestly can’t see how. Nevertheless, he never flies without me. Better?”

Dean looks up only to find Richard’s face mere inches from his; apparently, the lawyer had been watching a bit more intently than either of them had noticed. Richard clears his throat, moving away quickly.

“Much,” he says, “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Dean replies.

“…Could, uh…”Richard mutters, “Could I have my hand back, please?”

“Oh!” Dean gasps, “Uh, sorry, I…Yeah…”

He relinquishes Richard’s hand, blushing furiously, and returns to what he’s doing on the laptop. A slightly awkward silence settles between the two of them, until Richard mentions he has to go use the loo. Dean moves out of the way to let him through, not returning to his seat until Richard comes back.

“Are you okay?” Dean asks when he sees how pale Richard looks.

“I’m fine,” Richard answers as he settles back in, “The plane just keeps rocking.”

“Maybe you need another drink,” Dean notes, but as he makes to press the button for the flight crew, Richard stops him, taking him by the wrist.

“Me drunk on a plane is not a good idea,” Richard argues, “Keep me distracted instead.”

“How?” inquires Dean, unconsciously closing his laptop.

“Tell me more about your photographs,” Richard tells him, kneading his own palm, “Tell me why you’re going to London. Tell me anything. Let me hear you talk.”

“You want to hear me talk?” Dean echoes.

“Indulge me,” Richard chuckles, “Please.”

“Well,” Dean laughs, “Since you asked so nicely…”

And he begins to talk, telling Richard about how he got started in photography, his father’s influence in his art, his joy in traveling to far flung places just to get the most amazing pictures, his fascination with the way colors can come together to create an entire new universe with just a few brush strokes…

The entire time Richard listens intently, laughing and smiling and looking utterly interested. Every jolt of the plane is countered with a swift turnover of his hand to Dean’s soothing ministrations, until Richard is so lost and truly distracted.

“You know what I find amusing?” Dean says, tracing lazy feather-like patterns on Richard’s palm absentmindedly, “The fact that you and I seem completely different, but are in fact quite alike.”

“How do you figure that?” Richard questions, finding himself grinning at the thought.

“You and I, no matter how differently we dress, create stories,” Dean points out, “Me in my jeans with my camera, you in your crisp suit with your notes and your brief case.”

“The only difference is that you enjoy it,” Richard reminds him, “I try not to ‘create’ anything that isn’t already true. I’m not a big fan of my boss, but he’s taught me well. Integrity, honesty, perseverance…He’s ruthless as a defense lawyer, but all the more incredible to watch for it. He’s not always a gracious man, nor does he always pick the right clients, but I wouldn’t be who I am now if it weren’t for him.”

“And what are you now, Mr Armitage, Attorney at Law?” raises Dean.

“Well…” Richard starts, “I believe I am now…quite taken with you, actually.”

Dean is admittedly more startled than he lets on. “I didn’t know you swung that way,” he says.

“I didn’t know you did either,” Richard smirks, “Isn’t it amazing how I just got that out of you?”

Dean chortles, blushing. “In any case,” he covers, “I don’t think you being taken with me has anything to do with your amazing boss.”

“No, it doesn’t, does it?” Richard says, “Neither does this.”

And in one swift, surreptitious motion, he’s closed the overhead light, plunging them into darkness as his lips touch Dean’s, lingering tentatively. There’s a sigh, and a sharp intake of breath, and then the kiss breaks.

“…Okay,” is Dean’s first word, “I…that was…”

“It was,” Richard agrees.

Dean settles back in his seat, his expression unreadable. “Why’d you do that?” he asks Richard.

“Can I use my being a bad flier as an excuse?” Richard tries.

“You probably could,” Dean considers, “Seeing as how you’re a lawyer and no matter how much I try to disprove your theory, you’d probably be able to defend yourself.”

“Now that’s just flattery,” Richard answers, and the irony in his tone is not lost on Dean, “Which, whether or not you mean it to be, is always half a lie.”

“Shut up,” Dean snickers.

“I’m sure you could make me,” Richard points out.

“You understand I take that as a challenge,” Dean tells him.

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t,” Richard says, “How long are you in London for?”

Richard doesn’t need to turn the lights on to see the smirk on Dean’s face. He knows the answer before Dean even has a chance to say it.

“Long enough.”

It turns out to be the most interesting plane ride Richard’s had in years.

 

**~ END. ~**


	12. GORMITAGE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: HP AU? I... I don't know. They fell in love at Hogwarts but had to split for whatever reason and then they are reunited many years later because apparently this Harry Potter kid they've all been waiting for has finally turned up! And at first it is really awkward because the break up was quite bad. Everybody else feels the UST and are just a tiiiiiiiiiny bit uncomfortable. Hahahaha?? I just want them making out + magic.

Dean’s face lights up when he sees who Aidan is talking with, and rushes over as quick as he possibly can, considering there are people running to and fro all over the place.

“Nezzie!” Dean greets with a huge smile, grabbing the Irishman in a huge hug.

“It’s James, remember?” says the other man as Aidan turns his attentions to Adam and Graham, “Years later, and you’re still calling me that.”

“Sounds better than James, to be honest,” Dean teases, “How are you?”

“Okay, all things considered,” James replies, “You and Aidan…”

It takes Dean a while to understand what James is implying, and when he does, he shakes his head. “Oh, no, no we’re not,” he says quickly, “I mean, we live together, but mainly because he hasn’t had a job since he had to quit the Ministry, and he had nowhere else to go, so…”

James looks over to where Aidan is greeting Adam, all big smiles and cheery demeanor in sharp contrast to the absolute chaos and panic around them. “But he’s not even sure that his mother was a Muggle,” James points out.

“No, but neither is he sure that she was a witch,” Dean reminds him, “One Muggle parent is enough to throw suspicion, I guess.”

“Better safe than sorry,” James concurs, looking over to the hole in the wall, “…Ah.”

“…What?” Dean asks, noticing the change in James’ expression.

“…Nothing,” James says, but simpers at the look Dean is giving him, “Just…don’t turn around.”

“What?” Dean asks again.

“Don’t turn around,” James repeats, “You’re not going to like the view.”

But before Dean can ask exactly what James means, Aidan answers his unspoken question for him.

“Rich!” Aidan calls out, rushing past people and Dean to greet the newcomer.

“Dear sweet baby Merlin,” Dean breathes as James can only give him a sympathetic shrug.

“Hey Dean!” Aidan calls, “Look who turned up!”

Shoving one hand into the pocket of his robes and gritting his teeth, Dean turns slowly on the spot. Aidan has his arm around a rather tall drink of water, who is smiling quite bashfully indeed.

“Hullo Dean,” he says softly, “You, uh…you look great.”

“Hullo,” Dean replies, “And thanks. So do you.”

A thick air of awkwardness quickly settles between them all, with Aidan’s eyes shifting from one to the other.

“Silly weather we’ve been having, eh?” Richard offers, trying to dissipate some of the weirdness.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” James exclaims exasperatedly, “You haven’t seen each other in over a year, and that’s how you start things off?”

“Well, what do you want me to say?!” Richard replies in a slight panic, “It was the first thing I could think of, I mean, you don’t exactly want me to start off with a downer or whatever, do you?”

“I don’t want you to start, period,” Dean says firmly, “You bolted without a fucking word, didn’t you?”

“I left a note!” Richard protests.

“And I suppose that makes it all okay, does it?” Dean asks him, “You think you shooting through is made fine just by scribbling a few words on a piece of  _scratch paper that you pulled out of the waste bin_?”

“I was in a hurry!” Richard shoots back, “I didn’t have time to look for proper paper, did I?”

“You didn’t have time, or you didn’t have enough fucks to give about how I’d feel about the whole damn thing?” Dean replies.

“Is this the time?”James asks no one in particular, eyes up at the ceiling, hands on his hips, but no one really pays him any attention.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Richard sighs, “I know it wasn’t right, but I didn’t have a choice.”

“Yes, you did,” Dean argues, “You had a choice. I could have protected you. I  _would_ have. But you didn’t even give me a chance to fight for you. Or did you not think you could trust me with that?”

“It’s not that,” Richard promises.

“Then what was it, Rich?” Dean asks him, “Please. Fucking  _enlighten_  me.”

Richard shuffles his feet, as if choosing his words first, but before he can say anything, people start pushing towards the entrance, jostling them all this way and that.

“What’s going on?” Aidan asks.

“Great Hall,” Graham calls back, “Now!”

Dean spares Richard one last look of loathing before he grabs Aidan and starts heading along with the crowd, James behind them.

“Do you think it’s true?” Aidan says.

“What is?” Dean replies distractedly.

“About Potter,” Aidan tells him, “You think he’s back?”

Dean shrugs. “Everyone’s heading to the Great Hall, aren’t they?” he points out, “I don’t think anyone in this school would have just stood up and did fuck all about what was going on in here if he wasn’t back.”

“So there’s gonna be a fight?” Aidan wonders, “And if there’s gonna be one, do you think we’ll win?”

“Does it matter if we do?” Dean answers him.

“Things could change, Dean,” Aidan says, “Things could get  _better_.”

Dean stops dead in his tracks, Aidan following suit. “If you’re saying what I think you’re saying…” he trails off.

“You still love him,” Aidan says frankly, “And don’t give me that face, because you do, and you know it. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be this angry with him.”

There’s no lying to Aidan. Dean has known him too long to know he’s the one person Dean can’t get anything past. He sighs. “Fine, one point taken,” he relents, “Any others?”

“Fix things with Richard,” Aidan advises, “We’re already kind of sure that there’s going to be a fight, what isn’t sure is how it’s going to go. Do you really want the last thing you say to him to essentially be to go fuck himself because you got your heart broken? Is that really the last thing you want to remember about him?”

Dean opens his mouth to say something, but then thinks better of it. He shrugs again. “Fine,” he says, “You’re right. If I find him, I’ll make things right.”

“ _When_  you find him,” Aidan corrects, “Now come on, we gotta go.”

—- + —- + —- + —- + —-

Dean shakes his head, still trying to clear his head of Voldemort’s voice. He can’t help but wonder where the damn Potter boy is, and bitterly thinks he should just turn himself in already to save them all the trouble. But as soon as the thought materializes in his head, it dissipates, his conscience reminding him that every single person and creature inside the castle right now is here because they believe in the same thing Potter does.

Staggering a little, he finds himself in the Great Hall, dimmed and dusty and full of people. And bodies. People are carrying bodies past him and into the hall, laying them on the floor or bringing them to their loved ones. Almost immediately, he starts scanning the room, and is relieved to find Aidan and James sitting together, bruised and battered, but alive. He crosses the room in what feels like two or three paces, enveloping his two closest friends in gigantic hugs, thankful that they’re okay.

“Are you all right?” Aidan asks him, seeing that Dean’s side is bleeding.

“I’m fine,” Dean tells him, “That’s nothing, just a scratch, it’ll heal….Where’s Graham and Adam?”

Aidan and James exchange a look. “We all got separated,” James tells him, “When we heard He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, he went looking for Adam. We haven’t seen him since.”

Dean nods, breathing out the tension he’s feeling, his chest having tightened just a little.

“But he’ll be back soon,” Aidan says, ever the hopeful, ever the optimist, “I’m sure he will. They both will. They’ll be okay.”

Dean nods again, thankful, he finds, for Aidan’s more or less positive outlook. He seats himself down beside Aidan, exhausted but relieved, considering their situation.

“Look at them,” James says softly, “Look at all that needless waste of life. People who didn’t have to die, but did. Such a waste. Some of them were way too young.”

It sounds a lot more stand-offish than the thought behind it, but that’s one of the things that makes James who he is.

“They knew what they were getting into,” says Dean, “We all did. They didn’t die for nothing.”

“It isn’t over though,” James replies.

“No,” Dean answers, shaking his head, “no, it isn’t.”

They sit in silence, watching as more people come in through the doors, some alive, some dead, some barely. Madam Pomfrey is running around, doing her best for whoever she can. Dean is the first to notice the Weasleys come in, only to be followed by the body of one of their twins. A few moments later, two other corpses are laid on the floor, and Dean recognizes one of them as Tonks, a fellow Auror who had not shown up at work all year. She had been really nice, fun to have around and for the most part had been cheerful. He presumes the man next to her is her husband. Or was. Unlike the Weasleys, however, no one mourns them. Dean decides to go over to at least pay her his respects, but before he can even make it off the bench he’s sitting on, Aidan whispers his name softly, and points towards the door.

Richard walks in, limping slightly and clutching at his left arm. There is blood down one side of his face, and his robes are torn. Almost as if he can feel Dean’s eyes on him, he looks up, finding Dean right away, and for a few seconds, they just stand there, staring at each other. And then the widest smile spreads across Richard’s roughed up, dirty face, and Dean finds himself letting out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding in.

“Are you okay?” Dean asks him when he finally reaches Richard.

“I’ve been worse,” Richard tells him, “How are you?”

“Doing much better than you, it seems,” Dean answers just as Richard’s knee gives way, “Whoa, whoa, easy.”

He helps Richard to a more or less secluded area, and lets him slink down a wall to the floor gingerly before joining him there.

“I saw him,” Richard says, “Potter. He was with his friends. I think they’re on their way here, but I don’t know.”

“What about Graham?” Dean asks of him, “And Adam?”

Richard shakes his head, grimacing in pain. “Haven’t seen them,” he tells Dean, who immediately checks to see if his head is, in fact, wounded and bleeding, “I’m okay. That’s not my blood, but I did get a good knock on the head.”

When Dean pulls away, it’s to see Richard looking at him almost serenely.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Richard says.

“Me too,” Dean replies, “I mean, you. I mean…you know what I mean.”

Richard chuckles weakly. “Crazy night, huh?” he says.

“Crazy,” Dean echoes, “…Listen, I’m sorry I was all angry with you back there.”

Richard waves him off with his good arm. “I deserved it,” he answers, “You were right. I should have been honest with you about my fears, and I should’ve trusted you more. Not a day went by after I left that I didn’t regret it. I felt bad about it right away. But I couldn’t go back.”

“Why not?” Dean asks, “You know if you’d come back as soon as you’d left, we’d have been okay.”

“I couldn’t go back,” Richard repeats, “Because I didn’t like the thought that I was putting you in danger by staying. They were going through the Ministry one employee at a time, and I knew it was only a matter of time before they got to me, and I didn’t want them to come after you too.”

Dean is almost ashamed now that he’s spent a lot of time over the past year wishing Richard would get hit by some silly minor jinx every now and again. “I would have fought for you,” Dean tells him, “I did. When they realized you’d gone, they came to me looking for you. But I’m pure-blood, they wouldn’t hurt me, not when every drop of pure magical blood spilt is a waste to them. Still, they threatened me quite a bit, and when they were finally convinced that I was telling the truth when I told them I didn’t know where you were, they left me alone.”

“Did you hate me for leaving so suddenly?”

Dean turns to Richard, but Richard has leaned his head against the wall, eyes closed.

“I was angry,” Dean confesses, “I was hurt. But I couldn’t hate you. I still can’t. I missed you, and I worried about you constantly. Aidan was just nice enough to not say a word about it.”

“You worried about me?” Richard echoes, sounding rather hopeful.

Dean shrugs. “How could I not?” he says, “I loved you, you big lug.”

Richard is clearly fighting the urge to smile even more. “And now?” he asks of Dean, who looks away and picks at the hem of his shirt.

“Now…” Dean trails off, really thinking about it. He looks up and over to where Aidan and James, who have been joined by Graham and a very much alive Adam, are seated. Aidan turns away hastily, as if he’d been watching the whole time. Dean lets out a small laugh. Richard is watching Dean too, waiting for an answer.

“Yeah. Yes, I still love you.”

Dean hears Richard let out a sigh of relief, and he turns and smiles at him, a hand on Richard’s cheek.

“Promise me something,” he says.

“Anything,” Richard agrees.

“Promise me we’ll get out of this alive,” Dean says, “Both of us. And when we do, promise me you’ll come home, and we’ll make this right.”

“Both of us?”

“Both of us.”

Richard gives him an answer by kissing him sweetly, and for a few blissful seconds, the darkness and chaos of war and battle falls away, and it’s just the two of them again, both of them, and Dean is sure, so sure, that everything is going to be okay.

When the kiss ends, Richard shuffles a little, getting a bit more comfortable, and places his head on Dean’s shoulder.

“Stay with me,” he requests.

Dean plants a little kiss in his hair.

“Always.”

**~ END. ~**


	13. AIDEAN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: Can I have an Aidean where one (either way, I'm not fussed) says 'I love you' for the first time in the midst of passion, and after feels really bad about the circumstances and starts rambling to the other to make sure they understand he really meant it.

“Fuck, Aidan!”

Dean’s voice is hoarse, one hand fisting in the sheets, the other reaching behind him to grab at Aidan, who has re-angled his hips. Each thrust now makes him hit Dean’s prostate more directly, tearing the most delicious sounds right from Dean’s gut and out his mouth. Aidan’s hips snap quickly and sharply, his hair and skin damp with sweat. Dean’s hand finds Aidan’s thigh, but he’s too weak with pleasure to really be able to get a good grasp on him. Instead, Dean’s fingers skim along Aidan’s skin, as his mouth falls slack and a shaky sigh comes out of him.

“God, yes, keep going…fuck, right there…”

Aidan presses down on Dean, who gasps as his body keens even more to Aidan. Aidan presses a loving kiss to Dean’s shoulder as his thrusts become rougher. He reaches a hand around and closes it tightly around Dean’s cock, making him jump and buck and positively growl with need. Aidan strokes him in time with the movement of his hips, and Dean all but loses his ability to think straight. His own movements become stunted, as if he’s torn between backing against Aidan’s hips or fucking into Aidan’s fist. When Aidan’s hand twists on its way up, his thumb brushing over the slit, Dean gives up on literally _everything_.

“Gonna come, Aid… _Fuck_ , gonna come…”

And with some well-placed, growl-whispered encouragement from Aidan, he does, swearing into the pillow he has buried his face in. Beneath Aidan, Dean’s body trembles, his skin so flushed and warm against the winter weather that Aidan can’t help but dig into it with his fingers. He continues to drive towards his own release, just seconds away for sure, if the tightening in his belly is any indication. Dean reaches back for him again, finding a hand this time, and he holds it in place.

That’s when it happens.

“I love you.”

Aidan’s orgasm hits him hard, and he muffles his cry in Dean’s back. His hand is still in Dean’s somehow, even after he’s spent himself, has gotten rid of the condom, and is now lying on his side, covers up to his waist, Dean’s back pressed sweetly against his chest. Dean’s thumb is stroking over Aidan’s fingers lightly, and Aidan can’t help but smile.

“Can I ask you something?” Dean asks him, still holding Aidan to him.

“No, I didn’t eat the left-over falafel,” Aidan replies, earning him an elbow to the chest.

“Not that, you egg,” Dean chuckles, “I just…Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?” asks Aidan, kissing Dean’s neck just because it’s within reach, and really he doesn’t need any other reason.

“What you said,” Dean answers, “A while ago. When you…”

Aidan grimaces slightly in confusion. “What did I say?” he says.

“You said you love me,” Dean reminds him, “How could you forget, you said it just minutes ago.”

Now Aidan is  _really_  confused. “No, that was  _you_ ,” he says, “I’d have known if I’d said it, wouldn’t I?”

“So you  _didn’t_  mean it?” Dean counters, turning to face Aidan, who is now sitting up.

“I didn’t say that!” Aidan protests.

“So you  _do_ mean it?”

“I would if I’d said it, but I didn’t say it, Dean.”

“So you don’t love me?”

“That’s not what I said!”

“Ah, so are you saying you meant it?”

“How can I mean something I didn’t say?”

“So you’re saying you don’t love me?”

“That’s not what I’m saying at all, Deano, you goob! I’m saying that if I told you I love you, I would mean it!”

A smile slowly creeps across Dean’s face, and Aidan is pretty sure he’s completely discombobulated now.

“Good,” Dean says, “Coz I totally meant it.” He kisses Aidan then, laughing when he pulls away and lies back down.

“I…what…” Aidan sputters, “The…but…What just happened?”

“I got you to tell me you love me, that’s what happened,” Dean answers smugly, “You’re right, I was the one who said it a while ago, but…you know, I wasn’t sure how you’d react to it if we waited until the morning to talk about it. And I wanted to be sure, you know. I just wanted to hear you say it, is all.”

Aidan stares at him for a while, stunned. “You weasel,” he says, poking Dean’s waist where he’s ticklish. Dean jerks, laughing.

“I’ve been called worse things, trust me,” Dean tells him, still grinning as he turns onto his back to look at Aidan.

“You know you could have just asked,” Aidan says.

“I did,” Dean points out.

“Plainly, fucker,” Aidan answers, “I would’ve told you flat out.”

Dean’s index finger have found Aidan’s open palm. It traces lazy patterns on it, and it’s warm and familiar and  _such_ a little “Dean thing.”

“Tell me now,” Dean says softly.

There’s a small smile on Aidan’s lips as he heads for Dean’s. Their kiss is sweet, sincere and real, and Aidan’s not sure how or why, but it’s somehow made better by Dean’s hand on his chest, just over his heart.

“Dean O’Gorman,” Aidan starts, “You are a gigantic goof, and a handsome little arsehole.”

“Close enough,” Dean laughs, kissing Aidan again.

“I really should make you pay for that, you know,” Aidan tells him, kissing at his throat, “Punish you for confusing me like that.”

“Do your worst,” Dean growls into Aidan’s ear, challenging him, daring him.

“I always do,” Aidan replies, maneuvering a knee between Dean’s legs as he kisses him again, “Oh, and Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

Dean’s response is to kiss him hotly, sighing as Aidan slides a hand underneath the covers and down Dean’s body again.

_**~ END. ~** _


	14. AIDEAN, GORMITAGE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: Dean is getting married to Richard and he's never been happier or more in love but a few weeks from the wedding Aidan comes crashing back into his life. And Dean loves Richard, truly. But Aidan was his first love, before the bastard broke his heart. Aidan was young and foolish when he broke up with Dean and he's never gotten over him. He knows it's terrible and selfish of him but he can't stay away. Who Dean ends up with is up to you, wonderful writer. :)

"What are you doing here?"

It's not the kind of greeting Aidan had been hoping for, but it's the one he gets, and therefore the one he'll take.

"I just wanted to come see you, that's all," he tells Dean, "You know, I mean...to tell you thanks for the invitation and all."

The expression that crosses Dean's face is unreadable. "Oh that," he says, "You couldn't have done this over the phone?"

Aidan scratches at the back of his head. "Not really," he confesses, "I need to talk with you. Can I come in?"

Dean's eyes squint and shift around in uncertainty, but finally, he sighs. "Yeah, okay," he relents, stepping aside. Aidan shoves his hands into his pockets and crosses the threshold into Dean's apartment.

It's the first time Aidan has been in here. Even after he'd found out from Adam that Dean had officially moved to London a few months ago, he hadn't sought him out even to see him and just say hello. Looking around, Aidan can't help but smile at how absolutely DEAN-ish the flat looks. It's endearing, at least until Aidan realizes just how much he's missed visiting with Dean, and then it just hurts.

"Would you like something to drink?" Dean offers as he closes the door, "There are cold beers in the fridge. Unless you want tea or coffee instead?"

"I'm fine," Aidan tells him, "You, uh...you look great."

"So do you," Dean offers, almost smiling, "I like the haircut. You look more...grown up. Or, you know, less like a...kid."

Aidan chuckles, shuffling his feet a little. "God, I've missed this," he sighs, "I've missed YOU."

"I've missed you too," Dean tells him sincerely, "I honestly did, and it's really good to see you, but I'm, you know, a little busy."

"Oh," Aidan replies, "I won't take up too much of your time then. It's just...I've been thinking. Quite a lot, actually. About you. Well, you AND me. About us."

The look on Dean's face tells Aidan that Dean may had been anticipating this conversation. "Aidz," he starts carefully, "I care about you, but there hasn't been an 'us' for a long time."

"I know," Aidan concurs, "and I also know that I'm mostly to blame for that happening, but I just...I can't stay away from you anymore. It hurts, Dean. It really, really hurts."

Dean let's out a breath. "This would've been really great to hear a year ago," he points out, "It's way too late now, Aidan."

"Is it really?" Aidan asks, taking a step or two closer, which is all he can dare at this point.

"You got an invitation, didn't you?" Dean shoots back, "I'm getting married, Aidan, and that's that. We had our chance, but it didn't work out. Fortunately, it did with Richard, and now in a few weeks' time, we're getting married. Period. End of story."

"It doesn't have to end that way," Aidan says, "Because you and I are stellar together. I was a better person with you than without you. I was happier, more content. And so were you."

"I was," Dean is quick to reply, "but that's the operative word here. WAS. If you were so happy with me, why did you leave me?"

"Because I was a fucking idiot, that's why," Aidan snorts, "I didn't know what I had until I lost it. Besides, filming was over. You were there, and I had to leave, and I just...I didn't think I could stand to be with you and yet live away from you. I thought you'd be better off not having that stress. So I did what I thought was right for both of us."

"Jesus, Aidan," Dean breathes, exasperated, "you great bloody idiot. You just didn't get it, did you? You know I would've made it work. I wanted to make it work. I would've moved if you asked me to. I was ready to leave so much of my old life behind to be here with you. I would've told my family and friends goodbye if it meant a life with you. THAT'S what was right for the both of us. I would've done all that, Aidan. I really would have done it. For you. For both of us."

Aidan is so taken aback that he's rooted to the spot, and all he can do is stare at Dean, who seems to only be gradually realizing what he has said, and the impact of it.

"Why didn't you tell me all this before?" Aidan asks.

"You didn't ask!" Dean tells him, "You just assumed that a long-distance relationship wouldn't work, and you broke up with me!"

"They rarely ever work, Dean!" Aidan protests.

"And that's why I would have moved for you!" Dean points out, "I wanted to! You just never asked!"

"Would it make a difference if I asked you now?" Aidan wonders.

"Why would you think it would?" Dean asks back.

"Because you're angry with me," Aidan tells him, "Why would you be angry with me for showing up weeks before you get married if you didn't still care? The fact is, Dean, my showing up here has thrown a wrench in your perfect plans, because you didn't think you still loved me, but it turns out now that you do, and that's confusing you. You're pissed off because you're only supposed to be in love with one person at a time, but you know you still love me. Look me in the eyes and tell me I'm wrong."

Dean opens his mouth to do just that, but Aidan sees in his eyes hesitation, reluctance and the realization that Dean can't actually tell him straight to his face that he's wrong. At least, that's what Aidan sees. He refuses to believe he's hoping too much.

"I'm right, aren't I?" Aidan says softly, stepping closer now to Dean, who isn't moving away, "I know you still love me, but more importantly, YOU know you still love me."

Dean's expression softens, as if he knows he's fighting a losing battle. "I..." He tries to say, "Aidz, I don't...I can't..."

"Hey, it's okay," Aidan tells him with a small, reassuring smile, "We wouldn't be here if I hadn't been stupid enough to let go of you. But we've got a chance to make things right. We can start over, and it'll be just like we were before. I promise."

He leans in to kiss Dean, but he turns his face away with a muttered "No." Aidan doesn't know if he's more confused or hurt.

"You just said-" Aidan starts to say.

"I didn't say anything," Dean interjects, "This isn't fair, Aidan. This is the farthest thing from fair. You can't just come here and think you can walk right back into my life and carry on like nothing happened! I'm getting MARRIED, Aidan! I can't just do a 180 and not marry him just to ride off into the sunset with you. I can't rearrange my life for someone who ran out on me. Please don't do this to me, Aidan! Not now."

Dean seems to be on the verge of tears. He's fiddling with his ring. He isn't looking at Aidan. It's clear Aidan has gotten through to him just by being there.

"Why did I think it would be okay to invite you to the wedding?" Dean asks, seemingly more to himself, "Why did I think I'd be okay seeing you again? I'm not okay right now, I'm really not okay. I mean, this isn't...and you're...I just..."

Aidan decides to save him from more incoherent stammering by closing the gap between them and kissing him. There's just a tiny whimper from Dean, but he kisses back, and they fall into a familiar routine of push-and-pull and give-and-take, and then Dean is against a wall, clutching at Aidan's neck and chest as Aidan loses himself in the kiss. It really has been much too long. How in the world Aidan has gone a year without Dean's kiss and Dean's touch and Dean's EVERYTHING, he doesn't know. But it's all here again, and it literally feels like no time has passed.

But then when Aidan's hands tug at Dean's shirt, Dean pulls away, urging him off.

"Don't," Dean mutters, and there's guilt in his tone, quiet but heavy, "Please don't. I can't...I can't do this to him, I can't do this to you. Just...please don't."

Dean is looking past Aidan, and it seems as if he's fighting tears. Aidan takes a step back, hardly able to believe what's happening.

"This isn't right," he murmurs, "This isn't the way it's supposed to be happening. This isn't how I imagined our reunion would be like."

"Funny how things don't always turn out the way you want, eh?" Dean says with just a dash of bitterness and venom, "Isn't life just a little bit unfair sometimes?"

Dean is glaring at Aidan, actually glaring at him, through wet eyes. Aidan makes a move as if to reach out for him, but thinks better of it, and instead he puts his hand in his pocket.

"I'm sorry," he says instead, "For everything. For this, for last year, for being an idiot. I probably should have waited until the wedding to come see you."

"Somehow it might've been worse if you did," Dean remarks, "I don't think us making out would be a good sight to see at the reception."

Aidan can't help the chuckle that escapes him. He's secretly relieved when Dean grins a little bit himself.

"I should go," Aidan says, "I'm...really sorry. And for what it's worth, I'm really happy for you. At least one of us got his happy ending already."

"You'll get yours," Dean assures him, "And when you do, you're gonna be even better off. And if you love that person, whoever he or she is gonna be, half as much as you did me, they're gonna be the luckiest person alive."

Aidan doesn't quite know what to say to that, so instead he pulls Dean in for a hug. Somehow - somehow - it's enough. Dean holds him tight, and the embrace is warm and soothing and nice, and Aidan knows everything's going to be okay. When they let go, they're both smiling. Aidan gives Dean's hand an extra squeeze, and Dean nods. They don't need to say it anymore, they never have. After all, the first and last time they'd said goodbye to each other, they'd broken up.

As the front door closes behind Aidan, Richard rounds the corner into the corridor. He gives Aidan the brightest smile.

"Hello, you!" Richard greets, "Long time, no see!"

"Yeah," is all Aidan can think to respond."Been to see Dean?" Richard asks, and Aidan momentarily panics. Then again, who else would Aidan be here to see?

"Yeah," he says again, "Been a while. Couldn't wait until the wedding."

"Don't blame you, honestly," Richard tells him, "So we'll be seeing you there then?"

The door opens just behind Aidan then, and there stands Dean, who perhaps had heard their voices and maybe just wanted to make sure nothing bad happened. Aidan and Richard both turn to look his way.

"Yes," Aidan says, eyes still on Dean, "I'll be there. Wouldn't miss it for the world."

Dean gives him the tiniest of smiles, and an even smaller, almost imperctible nod.

"Great!" Richard cheers, and Aidan turns back to him, "See you then, mate."

"Hey," Aidan says then as Richard passes him, "Congratulations, man."

He offers Richard his hand, and with a divine smile of understanding, Richard takes it in a firm handshake.

"You're a lucky guy, man," Aidan adds in a voice low enough for only Richard to hear, "You take good care of him."

"I will," Richard promises, clapping him on the shoulder.

Richard lets go, and Aidan offers Dean one last glance. Dean waves at him as Richard joins him by the door. They look good. They look happy. They look right. With a final wave, Aidan leaves.

 

_**~ END. ~** _


	15. AIDEAN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: Aidean! Either one's miserable because of some unfortunate accident (a relative dying/getting sick, a burglary, mugging, either one's house burning, one of themselves getting seriously ill or like, whatever you can come up with). The other one needs to comfort the other and find a solution. Bit angsty, I know...

Aidan tosses his keys onto the console table by the door, and switches the living room light on. Dean follows close behind him, still wrapped in a borrowed shock towel, soot and dust all over his skin and clothes.

“Come to the kitchen,” Aidan calls, “I'll make you some tea.”

Aidan sets to, grabbing a box of peppermint tea from one of the shelves while simultaneously making sure he's got some hot water. He hears Dean pull out a chair and settle himself in wordlessly. Aidan can't blame him. He's still a little shaken himself. Things could have been worse. Much, _much_ worse. When he turns to find Dean drawing aimlessly and sullenly on the tabletop with a finger, he counts them both lucky that Dean's still even there to do that.

“Here,” Aidan offers softly, seating himself down beside Dean as he hands him the cup of hot tea, “Heaven knows you need it.”

Dean takes it with his left hand, giving Aidan a quiet, sad smile of gratitude. Aidan watches him sip, relieved to see Dean's expression soften as the tea goes down smoothly. When the tea is halfway gone, Dean puts it down on the table, letting out a heavy sigh.

“Are you okay?” Aidan asks. He knows it's a silly question to ask at a time like this, but he just needs to hear Dean talk, needs to hear that he _is_ okay, that he's still here, because...well...

Dean nods, somber. “I don't know what happened,” he says, seemingly exhausted, “One minute I was asleep, the next, the smoke alarms had gone off, and then...” He swallows hard, running his left hand through his hair. Aidan puts a hand on his shoulder, wondering if even that is too much.

“I lost my camera,” Dean laments, gingerly placing his other arm on the table, “I couldn't save it. I tried to. Thank God I'd forgotten my laptop in the trailer, or else I wouldn't have the pictures anymore either, but...fuck, the camera...”

“Hey, it's okay,” Aidan soothes, moving a little closer to Dean and risking his arm around him now, “It's okay, we'll get another one. You're safe, that's what's important.”

Dean sighs, propping his elbow up on the table and rubbing at his temple with his fingers. It's then that Aidan notices Dean's other hand, which he hadn't seen until now.

“Oh Deano, no,” he breathes, reaching gently for Dean's right hand, wrapped tight in bandages., feeling a tidal wave of emotion hit him hard when Dean doesn't take it back from him, lets him hold and examine it, “Not your painting hand.” Aidan's touch is feather-like across his scalded skin; he's just a little scared that if he touches him any harder, his hand might fall to pieces.

“Just a couple of first-degree burns,” Dean tells him, trying to sound reassuring, “It should be okay soon.”

“Not soon enough,” Aidan whispers. He bends down and places a soft kiss on Dean's palm, reeling from the realization of exactly how bad the fire could have been. Suddenly, every tiny move Dean makes and every quiet breath he lets out means so much more than it ever has. Aidan blinks away a tear or two, and when he lifts his head, it's to see Dean peering sadly at him.

“I'm so sorry, Aidz,” Dean murmurs.

“Whatever for?” Aidan asks him gently.

Dean hangs his head, his eyes on the way Aidan's finger can't seem to separate itself from Dean's wounded hand. “I lost Mitchers,” he confesses quietly, “I don't know if he was inside when the fire started. You know how he likes to just up and leave through the windows. But when I went to sleep, he was in the bedroom with me. I don't remember if he was there when I woke up.”

“...Oh,” Aidan mutters, the thought of the worst case scenario stabbing right through him, “Don't...don't worry about it. I'm sure he got out in time.”

“I loved that little guy,” Dean says.

Ssshhh, it's okay,” Aidan tells him again, because he can't seem to say it enough to himself, “I did too.” He draws Dean's head closer, placing a soothing kiss on his forehead before touching it with his own. “He's gonna be okay,” he continues, “I'm sure he's out there, safe, and he'll find his way home somehow. He's a tough little kitten, he'll be okay. The important thing is that you're safe, and you're here with me now, and I'm gonna take care of you, and I'm not gonna let anything happen to you, okay?”

Aidan feels Dean slip his uninjured hand into his own. “I know,” Dean tells him, his voice a little stronger, “You know what I could go for right now?”

“What's that?” urges Aidan, glad that Dean's talking a bit more now.

“A beer,” Dean answers, “Or two. Hundred.”

Aidan lets out a single chuckle. “I don't think that's a good idea right now, man,” he says, “What you need is a bath, and then you need to get some sleep.”

“I don't think I'll get any,” Dean says honestly.

Aidan pulls away just slightly, a hand still around Dean' s neck. “Hey, look at me,” he says, and Dean does, “I'm here, and I'm gonna take care of you, and everything is going to be okay. You believe me, right?”

Dean seems to search his face for a while, but he nods, and Aidan takes that as a good sign. He urges Dean up, and leads him to the bathroom.

An hour later, he's got Dean in his bed, but he's seated away from him, just watching. He's made himself a strong cup of hot coffee, planning to stay awake until he's sure Dean is sleeping, even if that means waiting until the morning.

Dean isn't finding it easy to fall asleep. He's got his eyes squeezed shut, but every now and again he'll turn, or mutter to himself, until finally, he seems to give up. He rubs at his eyes to get them to focus a little quicker in the dark.

“What is it?” Aidan asks, setting his coffee down.

“Can't sleep,” Dean groans, shaking his head, “Goddammit. My head is _throbbing_.”

“Maybe you need an aspirin or two,” Aidan suggests, “Hang on, I've got some in the other room.”

But before he can leave, Dean grabs his wrist. “No, it's fine,” he says hoarsely, “Just...stay with me? Please?”

The way he tugs at Aidan's wrist tells him exactly what Dean wants, even though it's not exactly what he needs. Still, it's enough for Aidan. They move in sync, Dean moving a little further along the bed to make space for Aidan, who slips right in beside him. They assume a familiar position right away in unspoken agreement, Dean's back pressed to Aidan's chest. This time, Aidan drapes an arm across Dean's torso, as if he's afraid that letting him go might make him disappear into thin air.

“That's better,” Dean sighs, his left hand holding Aidan's arm in place.

“Get some sleep,” Aidan tells him soothingly, planting a firm kiss in Dean's hair, “I'm not going anywhere.”

Outside the window, the stars twinkle on, as if they hadn't just been witness to a house burning down just hours ago. There's a light but cold breeze blowing, and an owl, hooting, ruffles its feathers against it as it moves past his tree. A small calico kitten looks around from where it's sitting in the grass. When the breeze comes by again, it mewls in protest, and heads for warmth and shelter, clearing a wall effortlessly and dropping quietly in through Aidan's window.

__

_**~ END. ~** _

 

 


	16. AIDEAN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: Can I request a continuation of this? http://fanficcianawrites.tumblr.com/post/46269308150/aidean-dean-is-in-love-with-aidan-who-has-a

Their first date goes extremely well.

Despite constant encouragement (read: pestering) from several Dwarves, Dean had kept his promise and waited for Aidan. He had kept his distance, treating him no different from before That Time On The Bridge. Aidan has him wait 3 whole months before anything happens. Out of the blue, Aidan invites him out for dinner and drinks, just the two of them, and despite Dean’s brain screaming “DATE! DATE! DATE!” like a code red alarm, he’s able to maintain his composure and calmly tells him that yes, it’d be nice to go have dinner and drinks with Aidan.

It’s nothing too fancy, their ~~date~~ get-together. Dinner is at a pizzeria they both really like, and drinks are back at Aidan’s, out in the garden, splayed out on the immaculately manicured lawn, underneath the stars. They talk, just talk, and it’s about the most random things, as if they’re not friends yet and haven’t spent the last 10 months building a close friendship on talking a _lot_. But it’s comfortable, and familiar, and actually a lot of fun to just spend this kind of time together.

In fact, their first date has gone so well, Dean is actually waiting for the disaster ball to drop.

“What are you thinking?” Aidan asks him.

“About what?” Dean replies.

“This,” Aidan informs him, “You and me. Now.”

Dean shrugs. “That I’m having a lot of fun,” he tells Aidan honestly, “That this is going a lot better than I had hoped it would. That I’m glad I’m not drunk so you know I’m telling the truth.”

Aidan smiles appreciatively at that, then squints up at the stars. “Yeah,” he says, “This is really nice. Why didn’t we do this sooner?”

Dean decides against the snarky reply that immediately formed in his head at the question.

“Can I ask you something?” Aidan says, and this time Dean doesn’t fight the half-laugh, half-snort that comes out of him.

“We’ve been talking all night, haven’t we?” Dean answers, “Ask away.”

“Did I take too long?” Aidan asks, “You promised you’d wait for me, and you did, but I’m wondering now if maybe I made you wait too long.”

Aidan is looking down at Dean’s face, probably trying to read his expressions. Dean sits up and looks him right in the eye.

“You know I would’ve waited as long as you wanted me to,” he tells Aidan honestly, “Even if you had me wait until the end of shooting.”

Aidan chuckles behind a smile, picking at a few blades of grass. “That’s sweet,” he remarks, “But it doesn’t really answer my question.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Dean agrees, “If I were to be incredibly honest, disgustingly sappy, rather creepy and grossly needy, I’d say that ‘too long’ would’ve been the day after the bridge.”

Dean thinks Aidan might be blushing, and God help him, but that’s way too adorable.

“Do you really think that much of me?” Aidan asks with an incredulous laugh.

It’s Dean’s turn to flush slightly and not be able to meet Aidan’s gaze. “I think,” he begins quietly, “that you, Aidan Turner, are an incredibly talented, very funny, insanely charming person, and it’s been a blessing to even be friends with you. Although I must admit, it was getting to a point where I didn’t think being friends with you was going to be enough. And then you and Millie broke up, and I spent a lot of the time leading up to tonight kind of imagining what tonight would be like, and what being with you would be like.”

“And what _is_ it like so far?” Aidan asks him, swigging the last of his beer.

Dean shrugs with a tiny smile. “I don’t know,” he replies, “It’s kind of been like…waiting in line for a rollercoaster.” When Aidan lets out a confused laugh, Dean explains. “It’s like…Imagine you’re at a really famous theme park, say Universal Studios, or Disneyworld. There’s this really awesome rollercoaster, right, and you can see it from afar. You see the twists, the turns, the loops, you see how fast the ride is going, how big the track is, you see everything from afar, and it gets you really, really excited, and you can’t wait to be there. You can’t wait for your turn. And then finally, it’s your turn, and you’re sat in the ride, you’re right in front, and suddenly you _can’t_ see the track and the twists and the turns and the loops. All you have to go on is what you saw from a distance. But that’s what makes it even better. You _think_ you know, but you have no idea. You’re just hoping that when you get off the ride, you do it with a smile on your face because it was as good as it looked from afar.”

Aidan blinks at him. “Wow,” he murmurs with a tiny grin, “That’s insanely vivid, strangely romantic and a hell of a lot to live up to.”

“Only if you were a lesser man,” Dean points out, “Which, trust me, you aren’t.”

“You sure about that?” Aidan asks.

Dean answers him by kissing him gently and tentatively, but briefly. It doesn’t last as long as The Bridge Kiss, but in Dean’s opinion it’s a lot better, especially when he feels and hears Aidan’s intake of breath just before the kiss breaks. The expression on Aidan’s face makes Dean think this was the boom he had been waiting for, but then Aidan is smiling, biting at the inside of his lower lip.

“That was the most creative answer I’ve ever received from anyone,” Aidan chuckles.

“I just ran out of things to say, really,” Dean jokes.

“I think you said quite a lot, actually,” Aidan remarks, “You wouldn’t happen to have anything else to say, would you?”

Dean tries very hard to fight down the smile threatening to spread across his face. “Not just yet,” he tells Aidan, “Save some for future reference, maybe?”

“Could everything else you have to say maybe fill a book or two?” Aidan suggests.

“Are we seriously turning talking into sexy metaphors?” Dean laughs, and Aidan joins him.

“We should probably stop before it gets out of hand,” Aidan agrees, “We should probably…I don’t know, take this inside?”

There’s an edge in his tone that Dean didn’t think he’d be hearing for at least another few week’s worth of dates. Then again, he can be pretty damn old-fashioned when it comes to these things. Still…

“That,” he starts, “Is a really, _really_ tempting offer.”

“…But?” Aidan prods.

“But,” Dean continues, “We don’t want to get ahead of ourselves, do we?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Deano,” Aidan says with a little shrug, “I think it’s kind of like waiting in line for a really cool rollercoaster…”

“Now you’re just making fun of me,” Dean chortles, “Which, I think, is a good place to leave this at, for now.”

Still laughing, Aidan seems him out the back gate across the lawn.

“I did have a great time though,” Aidan tells him, “We really probably should have done this sooner.”

“So there’s going to be a second time?” Dean asks, sounding just a little too hopeful.

“Well, if you wish to ride once more,” Aidan teases, “Please alight and kindly fall in line again.”

Snorting, Dean rolls his eyes, unable to keep from grinning. “Real romantic, Aidz,” he remarks, “Shut the hell up.”

Aidan giggles, actually _giggles_ , as he goes in for one more kiss. Dammit if that isn’t one of the most adorable things Dean’s ever heard in his life.

“So goodnight then?” Aidan asks when they pull apart.

“Yeah,” Dean replies, “For now?”

“For now,” Aidan promises him.

“Right,” Dean breathes with a tiny nod, “Well…See you.”

“Yeah,” Aidan answers, “See you.”

Dean walks off then, hearing the gate clang closed behind him. He counts off in his head, wondering what amount of time would be appropriate before he turns for one last goodbye wave.

He’s not sure when he stops to do it, but when he does turn back, Aidan is still there, watching him go.

**_~ END. ~_ **

 

 

 

 


	17. AIDEAN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: How about some Aidean where the boys keep being teased about Kili being Thorin's favorite nephew? If it turns out to be fluffy or pure crack or ~naughty, I'll leave it up to you lol ;)

At first, it's not really even an issue.

Dean even kind of joins in, pretending to cry or throw a tantrum or walk out when Aidan or Kili is given more attention, or when someone (read: Richard) mistakenly calls him Kili in a scene. He's also pretty sure he's the one who started the whole “The Cute One and The Short One” thing that spread like wildfire through the Dwarves and the second unit crew.

But then it goes from being “Aidan/Kili and...oh, that's right, Dean/Fili,” to “Aidan/Kili and Other Guy,” and suddenly it stops being funny.

The first time it happens, it's kind of a joke. The second time it happens, it's really just a passing thing. But then it happens three, four, five more times, and then it won't stop happening.

The last straw is when Richard completely forgets that Dean even has a name. It's not even on purpose, which makes it worse. Right smack in the middle of a scene, it's “Kili and...” Dean and Fili officially become “empty space where a name will be, just give me enough time to remember.”

Only Aidan notices the way Dean closes off, quietly glaring at things that don't deserve to be glared at and checking out of conversations before he even gives himself a chance to be part of them. He's not sure that anybody else has noticed Dean's change in demeanor and behavior, but then nobody else really watches Dean as closely as Aidan does, and vice versa.

So at the end of the day, after they've all retired to the comforts of their rented houses, Aidan stops by his own place only long enough to grab a few beers, and then heads over to Dean's. When Aidan rings the doorbell, Dean answers it already down to just a thin shirt, his boxers and a rather dour expression on his face, at least only until he sees who's at his door.

“Howdy neighbor,” Aidan greets, “I was just in the area when I thought I'd stop by. I bring libations!” He shows the bottles in his hands, shaking them just a little for effect, and puts on that cheesy grin that he knows Dean can't help but smile at.

It works. “You are an insufferable ray of sunshine,” Dean replies, standing aside, “Well, come on in then, before I come to my senses.”

Aidan stops in front of Dean to kiss him sweetly and soothingly on the forehead before continuing into the living room. He sets the bottles down on the center table and goes straight for the DVD collection that Dean had brought with him.

“You know what you need?” he calls as Dean joins him, “Something soothing, calming, relaxing...”

“Like a shot straight through the brain, maybe?” Dean asks in reply.

“Nope,” Aidan answers simply, “Like _this_.”

He pulls out Dean's boxset of the show _Spartacus_.

“You have got to be kidding,” Dean chuckles.

“Why would I be kidding?” Aidan says, popping in the first disc of _Blood And Sand_ , “Fighting, swearing, fucking, blood, guts, naked men and women...What's not soothing, calming and relaxing about that? Now park your glitter-spewing butt over here with me.”

“You promised never to bring that shit up!” Dean protests as he joins Aidan by the couch, “Ugh, I hate you now.”

“You can't hate me, I brought beer!” Aidan argues.

Dean responds by throwing a pillow at him. Aidan just laughs, and so does Dean.

“I should kick you out,” Dean threatens.

“Are you going to?” Aidan asks him, turning big brown eyes up at him and pouting _just a little bit_ because he knows it bugs Dean in all the right ways.

“Not when you're looking like that, I'm not,” Dean snorts as Aidan takes him by the wrist and pulls him down to the sofa, laying his head across Dean's lap immediately, “Oh, come on.”

“What? I'm tired,” Aidan says with a tiny smile.

“Whatever,” Dean snorts, but he starts stroking gently through Aidan's hair, as he usually ends up doing whether deliberately or just out of sheer force of habit.

“You okay?” Aidan asks him after a few seconds of silence, punctuated only by the odd warrior roar and the sound of metal slicing through human flesh emanating from the TV.

Dean sighs heavily. “I don't know,” he admits, “Things got to me today.”

“You know Richard didn't mean it,” Aidan assures him.

“Doesn't that just kind of make it worse?” Dean asks, “It's like everyone's gotten so used to the joke of remembering you over me that forgetting my name comes second nature to them.”

“That's not true,” Aidan says placatingly, kissing Dean's knee, “You know that's not true.”

“Stop that,” Dean groans, “I'm supposed to be angry and moody.”

“I'm sorry,” Aidan offers in a tone that suggests he totally isn't, “Go on then.”

“Too late,” Dean sighs when Aidan's lips touch his skin again, “Lost my train of thought.”

“Something about how I'm the favorite and nobody likes you,” Aidan teases, earning himself a sharp slap to the ass.

“It's a little disturbing though,” Dean continues, sobering rather quickly, “How do you forget someone's name even after you've been working with them for close to 6 months?”

“Easily, apparently,” Aidan answers, “For them, anyway. But like I said, it wasn't deliberate, and I'm sure that if you talked to Richard about it, he'd be very apologetic.”

“Now you're just making me feel like a whiny bitch,” Dean points out, still playing with Aidan's unruly curls, “Coz Richard is literally one of the nicest people I've ever met, and at the same time one of the sassiest, so you know I am NOT going to be on the winning end of that conversation.”

Aidan can't help but chuckle at the thought. “Just forget about it,” he tells Dean, “I'm sure it will all tide over, and it's gonna be okay, and one of these days, you're gonna be cuter than me, and they'll remember your name, and then _you'll_ be the favorite.”

“Shut your face, you blasphemer,” Dean laughs, and it's a real one.

“Better?” Aidan ascertains.

“Loads,” Dean replies with a smile, “Thanks.”

“My pleasure,” Aidan returns, kissing a little higher up on Dean's thigh, “Besides, does it really matter if _they_ don't remember your name, as long as _I_ do?”

“Aren't you a smug little narcissist,” Dean teases, sighing in a very different way this time when Aidan's lips linger a little longer on his leg, “Dammit, Aidz.”

“So here's what's going to happen,” Aidan says, sitting up and attaching his lips to Dean's neck, “You're going to forget that someone forgot your name, and you're going to make me remember it and say it over, and over, and over again.” He punctuates the last few words with kisses that press deeper and hotter against Dean's skin.

Dean moans low and quiet. “And how do you propose I do that?” he asks, as if Aidan's slowly descending hand isn't already an answer.

“Take a wild guess, little man,” Aidan breathes into Dean's ear, giving him a generous squeeze between the legs to keep Dean from retaliating about the nickname.

“Fuck,” Dean hisses, hips bucking just a little bit.

“That's the one,” Aidan says, unceremoniously descending on Dean's gradually wakening cock through his boxers.

Dean makes a sound in the back of his throat that Aidan would later fondly remember as a whimper. Aidan hums low and long, and Dean's limbs slacken in complete surrender.

“Okay but,” Dean manages to say as Aidan moves to the floor, urging Dean's hips to move so he can draw his boxers off, “How do you expect to say my name over and over and over again if that pretty mouth of yours is occupied?”

Smirking up at Dean from the floor, Aidan replies with a simple “I'm sure you'll find a way.”

20 minutes and an orgasm later, Dean does.

 

 

_**~ END. ~** _


End file.
